Glory and Gore
by HorchataOnTheMoon
Summary: With Makarov dead and the war over, Price is forced to return to the UK where he is met with the fate of being shoved into an involuntary retirement by the S.A.S. An old friend returns, bringing old memories of good times and hard fights along with him. The two are offered a job opportunity that will drastically change their lives. Titan Task Force is hiring. R&R.
1. Urgency

This story follows up with the events after MW3. I wanted to fill in what happens with everybody after the fact. I do not own any Modern Warfare characters.

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**Chapter 1 - Urgency**

"Price…you need to know." Soap's voice croaked as blood filled his throat. Price looked down at him, he could see the light in his right-hand man's eyes slip away. "Makarov….knows….Yuri." Soap's body went limp as he fainted from the increasing blood loss.

The old man Price shook his head with distraught as his strong hands found Soap's shoulders. "No, no, no, no, no! Soap!" Price's heart raced as he shook his dying friend and shouted with disbelief.

Suddenly, the resistance leader quickly approached Price's side as Yuri stared dumbfounded. "Price! You have to go! Now!" His hand found Price's shoulder, which was something Price was in no mood to feel.

"Get off of me!" Price barked as he shoved with all of his force sending the man fumbling backwards. The old man turned back towards Soap and exhaled heavily as the reality sank in. He lifted up the iconic pistol Soap had used to murder Imran Zakhaev with, and sat it gently onto Soap's chest. He lowered his head and murmured softly, "I'm sorry."

Right after giving him a slow pat, Price removed Soap's journal from his vest, head still hanging as his thoughts became lost in emotion. Soap was all he had left, and now it appeared he was gone.

Interrupting the silence, heavy gunfire from the enemy chopper began to shatter through the windows. Price, Yuri, and the remaining resistance lowered their heads and began to scatter.

"Price! This way!" The man from before yelled. Price, not wanting to move, forced himself to sprint away from his fading friend. Yuri followed close behind where they were led to a staircase leading to some underground tunnels.

What the two didn't know while leaving the scene was that reinforcements had been called in several moments before. These reinforcements consisted of Nikolai and his Little Bird, elite warriors involved in the resistance efforts, and a Bell UH-1 Iroquois completely fitted and mounted with a deadly array of firearms. Nikolai and the reinforcements landed and ran for the building containing the remaining soldiers of the resistance.

The young woman piloting the Iroquois lowered her eyebrows into a glare. "Eat lead, you crazy sacks of shit." Triggering the M158's mounted on the wings, the Iroquois launched a barrage of projectiles at the Ultranationalists chopper, sending it into flames and spiraling backwards into the ground. It was followed by a massive explosion which wiped out nearby Ultranationalists. She began clearing the area of the wave of enemy units that were converging in on the location. The reinforcements she had dropped off were also taking aim. Amongst them were several Americans assisting in the righteous cause.

All while this was occurring, Nikolai led a medic towards the table Soap had been sat on. His blood covered the table and had began to drip from the sides.

"There! There he his!" Nikolai shouted as he ran with the American medic. Both of their hands were full of medical supplies, amongst them was a defibrillator and several plastic bags of blood, ready for a transfusion.

The medic paused by Soap's side and checked for a pulse. It was present, but it was fading fast. "Shit. We're gonna lose him. We gotta stop this blood loss."

Nikolai began to rip open Soap's vest. "We have to find the wound and get pressure on it."

It was immediately apparent where the blood was coming from: Soap's stomach. Shrapnel had gotten lodged deep within his flesh. If they were all lucky, the sharp metal would have barely missed the aorta, increasing their chances on saving the fading man. Nikolai reached for his medical tools as the other young man reached for gauze, bandages, and sutures.

Suddenly, Soap's chest had stopped rising. The young medic caught the lack of movement and followed through by placing two fingers in the crane of Soap's neck.

"Shit." He said as he fumbled to reach for the defibrillator. Soap's pulse had shifted drastically.

Nikolai peered up swiftly from the task of removing some shrapnel. "What is it, Shawn?"

Shawn's green eyes flicked up in Nikolai's direction. "He's going into cardiac arrest."

Nikolai stopped his current task at sealing Soap's wound in order to assist Shawn with the new top priority. Once a charge was running through the defibrillator, Shawn raised the two static charged pads above Soap's motionless chest.

"Clear." Shawn said out of habit. A jolt shot through Soap's body, but nothing. Shawn rubbed the pads together. "Clear." Again, nothing. "Fuck, don't give up, big man."

Nikolai wiped sweat from his brow. "Come on, Soap."

Shawn exhaled heavily. "Clear." And as they say, 'third time's the charm', Shawn was able to restart Soap's dying heart, but they didn't have long.

"Fuck yeah," the young man placed the life-saving machine down and reached for a new tool. It was a large syringe, that read tranexamic acid on the side; it was a foamy compound which was formulated to stop heavy bleeding from an open wound when the only other option left was drastic measures.

Nikolai and Shawn's eyes met, both bore similar expressions of determination. In the background, the sound of war was dying down as the Ultranationalists retreated from the scene feeling satisfied with their efforts.

"Alright, Nikolai, get the rest of that metal and debris out of him, we'll administer this mixture, it'll slow the bleeding down, and then we can give him a quick stitch job. We don't have enough time to make this perfect."

The trustworthy Russian nodded approvingly and began the tedious task of removing the shards from Soap's abdomen. There was one shard though, that was most vital to remove, and it was roughly 4 inches in diameter. Even though it was likely the cause of the man's impending doom, it actually helped in the aiding of slowing the blood flow down. The irony was deeply painful.

The two men worked with such sharp focus they hadn't even noticed the dying commotion around them. Most of the resistance had decided it was time to make a break, whereas the reinforcements that had arrived chose to stay behind and keep guard.

Over the radios, they heard the female pilot buzz in, "The traffic is clear. We're going to begin making rounds to set up a safe perimeter."

"Copy that," one of the Americans had replied. He was a sturdy looking man, who stood to be about a solid 6 feet tall. He had almost solid black hair and calming green eyes. The man bore a very odd similar appearance to that of the rough looking man standing next to him, and even the young medic, Shawn.

Everyone watched as Shawn rolled up Soap's sleeve and began to get him set up for a O blood type transfusion.

Instantly, Nikolai sighed with relief. "Ah, got it!" He suddenly lifted a large metal shard into the air for the room to see, many of the onlookers were shocked by the size of shard which came from the injured man's core. At that point, Shawn had gotten Soap set up nicely attached to a plastic .5 liter bag of blood and immediately began to let the blood enter Soap's vein. The man had gotten cold and clammy, you could just _sense_ the death looming over him; it was a very disturbing sensation.

Shawn began to help Nikolai with the large syringe, which they inserted into Soap's wound. Had Soap been conscious, the pain would have been unbearable, but he instead was cashed-out as he hung onto a thread of life. Instead of noticing the pain, the little thoughts he had were dancing around in a spiritual trance. In his conscious, he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or fading. At one point, he had let go of everything, just completely willing to let the pain and misery end. However, fate had something else in store for him, and as he stared into the whiteness, he felt a quick jab into his chest. It caused him to jump as the jab continued two more times before the whiteness faded and he found himself in a dream state again.

The two men began aiding each other in the stitching up of the open wound. The sutures would be deep and the recovery time would be a long one. Shawn's eyes suddenly found a large scar on the wounded man's slowly rising chest. It was a nasty looking scar, and Shawn could only imagine the things this man had seen. He immediately felt even more compelled to aid in the man's revival; the need to see this man back in the fight was strangely empowering.

The young medic narrowed his eyes as his white vinyl gloves collected blood onto them. "Once this is done, it should be safe enough to move him into a chopper. But he needs better medical attention," he peered up at Nikolai. "Know a place?"

Like clockwork, Nikolai answered, "Da-there's a small town several kilometers from here. The town consists of loyal villagers, and they can provide the more appropriate medical attention. I can drop you two off there."

Shawn nodded, but then looked towards the blood bag. It was draining fast; he took a deeper notice of the blood that had came from the man. It was already beginning to start the first stage of coagulation. The young man was amazed.

Returning to his work, he stated, "You know, the adult human body can sustain 40% or _more_ blood loss and still live. That's anywhere from 3 to 5 liters of blood. Of course, the person has a much higher chance at survival as long as immediate medical attention is applied."

The American with a deep scar on his left cheek next to the dark-haired man by the window couldn't help but snicker. "Shawn, how about you get back to work instead of informing us with useless facts."

Shawn looked up with irritation. "That's not useless information. One of these blood bags holds .5 liters; this dude has obviously lost quite a bit…"

The man with the scar simply waved Shawn's words away with disinterest and Shawn could merely utter a sigh.

Then, their radios buzzed. "I need an ETA down there." It was the female pilot.

"Five minutes," Shawn had answered before anyone else could even open their mouths.

"Copy that. LZ will be in the Prague town square, located half a klick to your southeast. Over."

This time, the darked-haired man responded, "Copy that." He moved his M16 back up to an offensive position. "Get your gear together, we're leaving." With that, the reinforcements and the remaining resistance grabbed up their guns and gear.

Nikolai and Shawn began to grab up Soap and the supplies, when a young woman approached with an APR338 sniper rifle thrown over her back. Loose honey-tinted curls had fallen out of her pulled-back ponytail and now sat in her watchful eyes.

"Shawn," she spoke. The young man looked over at her as him and Nikolai lifted Soap. "Will he make it?"

Shawn paused and could only shake his head and shrug with uncertainty. "He's in severe critical condition. Most likely has some internal bleeding in addition to some broken bones. He apparently had a good fall. Mind grabbing that stuff for me?" He pointed towards the medical supplies.

She nodded and packed up the supplies and threw the bag over her shoulder. Staying closing behind, she held Soap's blood transfusion bag in the air as they ambled towards the LZ with as much speed as they could muster.

The three made it to the LZ where the Iroquois sat in addition to some Humvees. Once inside, the group of them set Soap down on a heated blanket to ensue his body heat would remain at an optimal level. Shawn and the honey-haired woman joined his side as Nikolai leaned in closer to say something over the sound of the spinning propellers.

"I'm heading back to my Little Bird. Tell Shorty to follow me and we can get Soap to that town I mentioned earlier," his voice was muffled but still remained audible. Shawn gestured his head in understanding and turned to the female pilot in the cockpit. While he clambered his way to the front, the young woman took a seat by the American dark-haired man from before. Her eyes found Soap's helpless body as his chest managed to maintain a weak excuse for rhythm. His face bore a stressed expression. She pulled her attention in the direction of the cockpit where she saw Shawn point and Shorty's head bob in agreement.

Shawn returned to Soap's side and began to prepare a second bag of blood for him. "His body is sucking this in. He's taking it well. No negative side effects...at least not yet…hopefully it doesn't fuck up his bone marrow."

Suddenly, the inside compartment of the chopper fell quiet, aside from the roaring blades, as the pilots gave the clear and lifted into the air. The pilot, accompanied with a co-pilot, caught sight of Nikolai's Little Bird and began to follow after.

After a twenty minute flight of flying at a speed of 180km/h, they found themselves in the closest neighboring quaint town of Mělník. Even though it was evening time, they could look out and see the glistening, mirrored surface of the water held within its many canals and the neighboring river. They were certain the sound of the roaring chopper scared the villagers awake and frightened them for cover. At this point, Soap had already powered through a second bag of blood and the coloring of his scarred face was returning, which was promising; his skin had a honey-glow about it. Despite being promising, the young man was still not in the clear.

Shorty was eventually able to find a secure clearing to land on after journeying around the town in search of an appropriate, temporary helicopter pad. Once landed, Shawn, Nikolai, the blonde-haired woman, and two other Loyalists assisted in getting Soap to the nearest hospital. They trekked for ten long minutes, following the lead of Nikolai, before they came up to the Mělník Hospital and Polyclinic, located in the southeastern portion of the town.

Rushing inside their eyes met with the receptionist as she jumped up from her position. Her face was painted in fear at the sight of five soldiers running in. Nikolai began yelling in Czech at the woman, shaking her out of her trance. She fled to the back where she quickly returned with a push bed and a nurse. As they got Soap secured into the push bed, Nikolai conversed with the nurse, filling her in on the situation. Not wanting to question anything else, they took Soap to the back where the top of his motionless head disappeared behind swinging doors.

The five soldiers were left standing in the lobby, a bit upset they were denied permission to follow, but they knew it was necessary. Shawn sighed and turned to Nikolai who was still breathing heavily to catch his breath.

"What's the plan now?" Shawn inquired with wondering eyes.

Nikolai rubbed sweat from his brow as he shook his head. "I have to go find Price and Yuri. Knowing Price, he's out for blood, and he's going to need someone to settle him down. Price needed Soap for that." He blinked with exhaustion. "I still can't be certain Soap will live through this, though. He looked terrible back there."

Shawn could only nod in agreement as the other three stared into Nikolai's face.

"I need to go find Price. He'll need my help. So I must go, but I'm afraid to leave that lucky Scotsman here alone. We need to know if...if he doesn't make it." Nikolai suddenly looked down. He was a battle-hardened warrior who was beginning to obtain a tear in his eye.

Knowing what had to be done, Shawn agreed to stay.

"I'll stay too," the fair-complected woman said. Shawn looked over at her.

"No, Ricochet. You don't-"

"No, I insist." Her aqua-tinted eyes found her friend. "I don't want you here alone. We need to stick together."

Shawn blinked with bemusement, and finally gave a very faint smile in return.

Nikolai's eyes rolled over each of them. "I already talked to Dmitriy and Liev. They agreed to stay for a week. These two can help with the more complicated translating if you need it. Liev is actually from here, fortunately, so he'll be able to assist you all with the knowing of the area."

Ricochet and Shawn thanked the two Loyalists for their contribution. Luckily, both Liev and Dmitriy were ready for a little break anyways.

Seeming pleased, Nikolai patted Shawn's shoulder. "Good work today. You all have my best of wishes. Keep Soap alive for us. God knows we all need it."

"When are we able to get picked up?" Ricochet questioned with concern. "How long should we have to stay? Until he's able to move again?"

Nikolai thought over that inquiry, because it was something he hadn't thought of. Finally, he came up with something. "We'll keep in touch. Also, Shorty should be able to come back to get you all soon once she refuels and finishes her original duty." He rubbed his chin. "Other than that, just watch over Soap. When he comes to I'm sure he'd appreciate some people who at least know his name."

With that, they all reached an agreement and Nikolai made his way for the exit, leaving the four soldiers of the resistance left to all gawk at each other with little words to say. What they wanted to find was some food and shelter. They were all tired and the tension was creeping up their backs like a vicious snake.

The night was growing late and fatigue was taking over their bodies. Liev and Dmitriy were ready to head off towards Liev's old house back from his childhood where his grandparents still lived. Shawn and Ricochet felt compelled to stay, and they couldn't say why. It was just the way Nikolai stared down at the injured soldier with sadness filling his eyes, the two Americans could just sense the despair swirling around him. So the thought of leaving the hospital without getting some form of feedback, even if it was grave news, made them feel guilty. Shawn had put his heart and soul into the revival of Soap, and he wanted to see the man at least open his eyes.

Ricochet and Shawn made a mutual decision to stay in the lobby where they both wiggled restlessly, despite being absolutely exhausted. They were both determined to stay.

As several hours passed and the morning drew near, Shawn was stirred awake by a gentle hand falling onto his shoulder. His eyes slowly peeled open and he was met with the face of a stern looking man with intense eyes staring at him. He was dressed in mint green scrubs and a long white coat. The man had the typical doctor look to him.

The man opened his mouth and spoke in Czech, "Are you the ones that brought the soldier in?"

Shawn sat up completely and blinked. "Can you speak in Russian, please?" He asked in the Russian tongue he was more familiar with.

The doctor nodded and repeated his previous statement in Russian.

"Yes, we brought him in. How-how is his doing?"

The man stared deeply into Shawn's eyes as he pulled back and rubbed his chin. He gave a heavy exhale. "He's hanging in there, but he still is not in the clear. Several broken ribs, a broken collar bone, a broken wrist, a concussion, internal bleeding, internal bruising, and we're still finding bits of debris through the portions of the skin."

Ricochet opened her eyes and pulled her head up sleepily. Shawn swallowed hard. "May we go back to see him?"

The doctor thought on this and bobbed his head while he pondered. He gestured with approval. "Sure. Follow nurse Ivana to the back. She'll be able to assist you."

Shawn and Ricochet followed the doctor's gesture and saw a small, dark-haired nurse standing by the swinging doors. The two of them stood and made their way for her. She nodded as they approached and turned through the doors to lead them to the room Soap was set up in. It was oddly still and quiet for an emergency room, and the two Americans' stomachs churned with anxiety.

The nurse finally paused and outstretched her right arm which directed them into room 8. Ricochet and Shawn rounded the corner and were met with the still body of the wounded Scotsman. He was hooked up to oxygen, an IV, a feeding tube, and a heartbeat monitor. The image was like something out of a tragic movie.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable and out of place, the two of them held their spots. The nurse, Ivana, shifted uneasily in her position by the door. "We're moving him to an intensive care unit soon," she said in her native Czech tongue.

Ricochet and Shawn couldn't understand much, but could take a guess.

"What's the next step for him?" The blonde haired woman asked in Russian with curious eyes.

Ivana twiddled her fingers and switched to a Russian dialect. "Once we get him to intensive care, he should recover faster. We need to move him to treat his internal bleeding more efficiently."

Shawn and Ricochet nodded in unison. Finally, Shawn gained enough drive to walk over towards the bedside where Soap lay. The man was in a heavy sleep with his eyes clamped shut. He still appeared to be suffering an internal battle deep within the chambers of his dreams; if he was even having any. The feeding tube protruded from his mouth and the heartbeat monitor beeped steadily. Ricochet joined Shawn's side as they blinked slowly in Soap's direction.

Eventually, Shawn heaved a sigh, "Well, we've done all we can for now. We should probably find Liev and Dmitriy."

Ricochet agreed and with that, the two Americans slipped out of the room with an eerie depression looming over them.

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	2. Awakening

**Ch. 2 - Awakening**

_Soap could hear muffled voices all around him, his head spun and his body was numbed by lack of blood flow. He tried to raise an arm but his muscles couldn't receive the signal. His eyelids pinched together as his eyebrows furrowed. The ringing in his ears dissipated long enough to hear two-no three different voices; two men and one woman. One he recognized, the other two he couldn't place. Feeling compelled, he slowly opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred and hazy. The images began to fade again but he fought it off long enough to get a decent look at the people around him. He suddenly realized he was being carried, with the darkened sky above him and several faces staring straight ahead with alertness._

_Looking from face to face, he noticed that there weren't three people, but actually five, the two other men just hadn't spoken. His eyes finally landed on the woman he had heard before. He could barely make out her face but she had wide, round eyes that were framed in loose, fallen waves. Sensing something, she had peered down at him for a moment. All he could do was stare into her face. Who was she? Who were these people? And what the hell was going on? Feeling overexerted from simply opening his eyes, he drifted back into a deep sleep where he found himself in an oblivion of mist and very little thought._

Back into real time, Dmitriy noticed Soap's once motionless hand twitch. Dmitriy brought his head up and looked at the hand, pondering whether or not his eyes had deceived him. He then noticed Shawn had perked his head up as well. They both glanced at each other with bewilderment.

"Did you see that too?" Shawn asked from his position near the window. Dmitriy nodded. With that, everyone stood up to approach Soap's bedside. The man had been out for four days, he had fallen into his deep slumber October 11th and even slept through the announcement of the peace treaty between the Russian Federation and the United States, ultimately leading to the end of the war. Had the man been awake, he would have been absolutely stoked. But alas, he had been unconscious through his slow and rough recovery.

Everyone still was staring down at him, television humming in the background. Eventually, Liev merely sighed, but then Soap's whole arm flinched. At that moment, everyone leaned forward; Shawn, Ricochet, Liev, and Dmitriy. All four of them were ready to see the awakening of the injured man and were ready to get some rest with the news of the ending of World War. The man was still a depressing sight to see, especially for Liev and Dmitriy because they had the honors of being able to see the toughened man in battle. He was skilled, hardy, and incredibly good at what he did, so it was upsetting to see a once incredible role-model for the war efforts now laying helpless and vulnerable attached to a heartbeat monitor and a feeding tube. War was a cruel occurrence, and many extraordinary men and women had perished from the violence.

Suddenly, Soap's eyes peeled open, something that hadn't been done since the night he was carried through the streets of Mělník. It was the first time for them to actually get a look at his light-blue grey eyes, framed in his dark eyelashes. Within his eyes, was an odd mixture of utter confusion and downright exhaustion. He blinked slowly and looked from face to face.

Liev became excited. "This is great. Nikolai will be excited to hear this news."

Shawn nodded. "Definitely. You all said his name was Soap?" Both Liev and Dmitriy nodded with agreement. Shawn peered back down at Soap who still stared deep into the souls of everyone around him. He tried to cough on the feeding tube as his eyes found all of the equipment he had been hooked up to.

"Did you hear that, Soap? Your future is looking much more promising." Shawn claimed but was only met with an even more intense, bewildered stare.

Soap? The name rung a bell in Soap's head, but he didn't know what it was. Everyone was left with their eyes still locked on him, and suddenly they realized something didn't seem right.

"He looks-very anxious. Do you think something happened to him during his fall...like to his head?" Ricochet immediately questioned, looking towards the guys.

Shawn shook his head and shrugged. "It's actually very likely. The doctor said he had been diagnosed with a concussion."

On cue, a nurse walked in to check the levels on Soap; her eyes lit up at the sight of the man looking over towards her. "Oh, this is great! We were worried he wouldn't wake up anytime soon." She had said in Czech. She made her way over to his side where she immediately brought a light to his face and told him to follow it. At first, he didn't understand her, only stared blankly into her face and through the bright light now before his eyes. He looked away from it as he head began to ache. She snapped to get his attention, which he immediately followed through with his wandering eye which watched the light move slowly across his face.

She sat back up, after having leaned in, and opened her mouth to speak. "That's good. He should start gaining back some of his reflexes and response time. I'll go get the doctor." The nurse then stood to leave where everyone else who remained in the room watched her as she left through the door. Ricochet and Shawn looked at each other; they were both ready to go home, but were both determined to stay until they got accurate feedback.

While the four of them sat around the room, Soap's eyes had locked onto the television. He watched with a deadpan expression as the images moved and the news anchors talked in Czech. Apparently a World War had just ended. It was news to him. That was something exciting, right? His mind suddenly flashed images of warfare and the cracks and blasts of artillery and assault rifles. He became startled by it. What _was_ that?

After several long, dragging minutes the doctor finally ambled into the room where his eyes found Soap and looked at him observantly. He paced over to Soap's side and looked him over. Turning to face the soldiers, he said, "We're going to run some scans on him now that he's awake. We won't know more until we get some readings and results."

Everyone sighed with exasperation. "How long will that take?" Shawn inquired.

The doctor rubbed his chin. "Two days maybe. The scans themselves won't take long. It's the results that will take the most time."

Shawn rubbed his brow, Liev and Dmitriy sunk into their chairs, and Ricochet's chin found the palm of her hand. Now that the war was over, the soldiers were ready to get some rest and return to their jobs. Not one of them had heard from Nikolai, and Shawn and Ricochet lost communications with their team. So not only was everyone weary, but they were somewhat worried about the little news. No one knew what to do except wait for Soap to actually _do_ something besides slowly look around the room. It was promising he had finally stirred, but it was obvious something wasn't right.

With that, the four of them stood and left to return to Liev's quarters. That was another thing, everyone appreciated the hospitality that Liev's grandparents had offered, but being a forced houseguest wasn't near the top of anyone's list.

Several more days had past, making the waiting time reach a full week, when they finally heard back from the hospital. The readings came back with the findings of Soap's temporal lobe to be a bit off. It was determined with the combination of the traumatic stress and the concussion that the man had temporarily lost a decent portion of his memory. The doctor left them all with the statement that, "his memory will gradually start coming back with time and prominent cues, such as major parts of his past that can help spike a flashback."

It wasn't the best news, but the good news was that Soap was on the road to recovery. It was going to be a long road, and now an even longer one with his memory damaged.

Liev and Dmitriy finally parted ways with Shawn and Ricochet once a convoy came to pick them up to return them to their home bases. The two of them were thrilled and were ready to be on their way. As for Shawn and Ricochet, they were finally able to get back in touch with their leader of their team, which also happened to be Shawn's oldest brother, Samson. The two Americans were then scheduled to get picked up by their pilot, Shorty, a day after they established communications. After that long stretch of roughly ten days, the four soldiers had left to return back to their lives before the war. No one had yet to hear from Nikolai. They figured no news was good news, but when dealing with warfare delayed news was the worse. Everyone had known Nikolai had parted from their presence to begin a search for John Price, the British ex-S.A.S. captain. Their war with the terrorist Vladimir Makarov was still alive and thriving. They were still hunting for bloodshed, and now revenge with the thought of Soap having perished from the compromise.

As for Soap, he was left in the care of the Mělník hospital, where many of the employees and staff attempted to search for clues as to who is family was, where he was from, and so on. All they had to go by was his dog tags they had removed from around his neck. John MacTavish. And at the current moment, his wellness status had been claimed as KIA, when in reality, he was stuck and lost in a small hospital in Mělník with no people he knew. All while this was going on, the four soldiers from before made constant attempts at contacting Nikolai, none of which succeeded. Nikolai was their only known chance at getting Soap's memory revived. So instead, they were all stuck in a void of uncertainty and occasional news from the Mělník hospital.

More days had passed, and time seemed to stand still for Soap who struggled with random images in his head of different faces and landmarks. It was starting to drive him into a deep exhaustion. As his body staggered along and up the road to recovery, his mind was having an internal battle with itself. So badly had he wanted to put names with faces and words with the proper spelling. The doctors had giving him a journal to write in, where he struggled with spelling in both English and Russian. Even the most fundamental of words, he couldn't spell. At this point in the recovery stage, Soap was finally able to move his bruised limbs. He had easily lost 15 lbs. of muscle mass, and for some reason, it really aggravated him. Somewhere in his head, he knew that staying fit was vitally important; images and pictures of him running courses and putting endless hours of physical exertion into his days in order to achieve an optimal physique played constantly in his head.

Growing impatient with words, he began to draw the faces. Roughly outlining contours and putting structure into the faces his mind showed him, he began to relax a little. It was soothing for him, even when nurses were constantly walking in and out to check on him, and work on him with his movements. Luckily for him, he gained muscle memory and general movements down fast. He walked fine, he could easily grab and reach for things with extraordinary coordination for a man in his condition, and even as his body allowed for him to gain back its reflexes and coordination it still annoyed him constantly having thoughts of trying to get better. Get back to that optimal weight. Tone out the core and his mobility. Strengthen his grip, his arms, his legs, all of it.

A month had past, and Soap was finally into extensive physical therapy with the doctors and nurses, where they worked intensively on his road to getting better. Had he remembered things and had he had kept a lively communication between Nikolai and his comrades from the war, he would have been excited with the news of the manhunt for Makarov. All while he worked at gaining his mobility and mentality, Price, Nikolai, and Yuri were narrowing in on Makarov's whereabouts. All three of them searched for Makarov with the thoughts of losing their friend, Soap, and just the sheer insanity Makarov possessed, as their fuel and ambition.

As time continued to run its course, and almost another month had dragged on, Soap had finally been released from the hospital. His once buzzed head, and properly kept mohawk, had all grown out revealing a thick head of dark-brown hair. The scar on his chin and left brow remained prominent, in addition to his battle hardened rudgeness. Once gaining more mobility, he had spent many hours just staring into the mirror in his hospital room bathroom. Seeing his own eyes, lips, nose, and his scars had all helped to contribute to gaining his memory back. His mind had flashed images yet again, only this time they appeared to be just pictures in general. It was of him and an older gentleman wearing a boonie and bearing a rough looking beard. He recognized him, but for some reason, the face was blank.

After walking through the front doors of the hospital, Soap looked around at his surroundings and played with his reacquired dog tags. The urge to just run quickly through the streets was boiling inside of him. Taking a deep breath, he started to run. Just to _feel_ his legs move and work felt amazing. He started his jog off sloppy, but his brain immediately triggered the physical labor side of him, and pushed him to run faster. The doctors had told him to take it easy, but he obviously didn't listen. He could care less as the bystanders and pedestrians stared with bemusement as he sprinted through the streets and down alleyways. Soap had no idea where he was going, and he was hardly familiar with the area; he just wanted to run, just to feel the muscles in his legs and arm work.

Coming to a stop at the sound of someone uttering, "Soap," he panted heavily and looked over his shoulder. It was Liev, who had returned to check in on Soap and his grandparents. Soap recognized the name the man used for him and he even recognized the face, but couldn't put a finger on either the of them. The nurses and doctors had been calling him 'John' the entire time, but something about the way the man said, 'Soap', was enough to make him halt completely in his tracks and look towards man with intrigue.

The man flashed and smile and approached him with swift excitement. "Holy hell, you're alive! And you're running!" Liev's smile was wide. Soap blinked at him. Finally, it clicked. Liev was at the hospital with him, but he still couldn't but a name with the face.

"Who are you again?" Soap asked. Liev would have found it rude, had he not had known of Soap's previous fate.

"It's Liev, back from our days in the resistance assisting the Loyalists in the fight against the Ultranationalists. Nikolai is going to be glad to see you. I was finally able to find a person who had active contact with him. Isn't that great? We can finally get you home."

Soap's eyes widened as he was suddenly blasted by a wave of memories and flashbacks. He hands found his temples as he closed his eyes and brought his head down. Liev watched in concern. At the sound of Nikolai, he was able to start putting more pieces together. Why he was constantly in the line of fire, why he was constantly surrounded by death, and even why he had the urge to just run with life through the streets.

"The war…" Soap murmured as he brought his eyes back up to Liev's. Soap was looking down at him, he had a solid four inches on Liev, despite having lost several pounds of muscle mass, Soap still possessed his broad chest and shoulders giving him a very tough look. He had memories of pushing someone out of an opening and plummeting several stories and into scaffolding.

Liev peered into Soap's baffled face. "How-how is your memory doing?"

Soap looked around and scratched his head. "It's coming along. My head always hurts though. Doctors said it's normal."

Liev nodded. "You're a lucky man. You died at some point, you know?"

Soap's eyebrows lowered as his mind worked to feed him more memories. He was recovering his thoughts quicker than most experts would have predicted, but Soap's determination and ambition was abnormal and the feeling of wanting to get back into the game was constantly eating at him.

"I felt dead. In some ways I still kind of do." Soap claimed as his eyes fell back on Liev and stared at him intently through dark lashes.

"Don't worry, we'll get you back to where you belong. In the meantime," Liev outstretched his arm with guidance. "Let's get you somewhere safe. We have to wait for a reply from Nikolai anyways." Soap hesitated momentarily before finally feeling Liev was trustworthy enough to follow.

From there, Liev was willing to work with Soap who was constantly trying to prove he could handle himself, despite still probably needing to give his body a rest. Liev would get up in the mornings, and would notice Soap was always gone and would eventually be back from his morning jog in time for breakfast. He was beginning to make leaps and bounds as Liev showed Soap some exercises he could start doing, all of which immediately came back to him as he ate up the knowledge eagerly. Finally, Liev no longer tried to persuade Soap to take a break every once in awhile, but rather he encourage Soap's active behavior to the point he started doing the exercises with him.

The two of them stretched, jogged, and worked-out constantly; Liev was determined to give Soap the moral support he so desperately searched for, despite the fact Soap was gradually starting to outlast Liev in many different scenarios. Being able to lift heavier things, running for longer, everything was growing more prominent, and Soap's memory was steadily making its presence known. He eventually came back to loving the name 'Soap' over 'John', and responded the most proficiently when addressed by it. Hearing the nickname he was giving back in the day as a F.N.G. fueled his strength and drive, he felt like a different person.

After another month of working his body and gaining some of his muscle mass back, he took a jog one morning without Liev's presence; Liev had become increasingly business during his attempts to reach Nikolai and it took up most of his time. Liev would wait days before hearing back from one of the people in the long chain of names that could eventually link him to getting ahold of Nikolai. During his probing and conversations, Liev had heard of Price, Yuri, and Nikolai closing in on Makarov's location and how they had established plans to eliminate the terrorist once and for all.

Soap had left just shy of the morning sun making its attempts at peaking up into the horizon. He threw a hood over his head, set a timer on his digital wristwatch, and set out for his two-hour long jog. While he ran on the side of the streets, he decided to switch things up this morning and went down a small side road to give himself a change of scenery. His thoughts wandered and his concentration on jogging steadily faded as he became immersed in his mind.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted at the obstacle that found itself in his path. He came to a stop at the sight of three hooded men who had emerged from behind a dumpster and a small alley. As they walked out, placing a blockade in front of the Scottish man, his eye caught the shimmer of the knives each man wielded. He felt his heart begin to race as his eyes narrowed in on this new found threat.

One of the men began speaking in Czech, his voice was low and threatening. The man next to the one who spoke laughed and flashed an amused grin.

Finally, the one who spoke pointed the knife in Soap's direction. Soap had gained little experience with Czech while he was in the hospital, but he knew he was about to be mugged, which was ironic because they were going to attempt to mug a poor man.

"Look at this stupid fuck," one man said, which Soap roughly translated in his head. "Taking a morning jog on a sketchy road."

Another man laughed. "Look how confused he looks. He's realizing he's about to get fucked up."

Soap's heart thumped against his chest and he felt an inner rage emerging. The pain in his head was starting to push into the back of his eyes to the point it only added onto his growing irritation.

Suddenly, one of the men came at him with the knife. Soap's vision slowed and his thought process went blank, everything that occurred afterwards came from purely within the confines of everything he had learned throughout the years of his military career. As the man came at him, Soap sidestepped with immense amounts of agility, completely blind-siding the attacker. Soap grabbed his arm with one fluid movement, and popped the guys elbow out of place with a strong placement of a palm. The man screamed as his arm went limp. Soap grabbed the knife clear from his hand and flipped him onto his back where the air got smacked right out of him.

He caught a glimpse at the other two attackers and saw a look of shock on their faces. But they angrily charged at him. Soap grappled the first guy, while dodging the swing of the other. He stabbed the second man in the back of the neck, instantly paralyzing him from the neck down and found himself in a position to take advantage of the missed attack the last man had taken at him. Stepping forward with all of his weight, Soap's foot went crashing into the man's knee, dislocating the bend in his leg. Adrenaline rushed through Soap's body as he grabbed the man's body and threw it to the ground, where he flew with intense force into the dirt and bashed his head against the dumpster.

Then it became still. Soap could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he looked over the men he had taken out in the matter of ten seconds. One was easily dead, the other was unconscious, and the first man was coming too and looked up with utter distraught. Soap met his eyes, and breathed through his mouth, before turning to continue his jog. He made sure to step over the dead man's body before continuing his trek back to Liev's house.

On his jog back, his head was aching. It was like nothing he had ever experienced and he couldn't catch his breath. Memories of active duty ran through his head. He saw the many faces of the fellow war comrades whom he had fought besides; the ones who lived and the ones who had died. He grew depressed and exhilarated at the same time. He was starting to finally realize who he was, especially when his thoughts managed to drift into his childhood where he was a young boy helping his mum cook and clean. She relied heavily on the help of him and his two siblings. Then he grew concerned about his mother and realized how much she probably cried over his disappearance. His memory gradually coming back was promising and the best thing to have happen, but he just wasn't ready for all of this emotion to rush over him all at once. It was like getting blasted by a crashing wave of water.

Once back at Liev's quarters, he was greeted by an overly excited Liev, who instantly ran at him once Soap opened the door. Soap wasn't quite ready to be met with such a profound greeting, but he knew it had to have been good.

"Soap! Soap! I got it. It got it!"

"Got what?"

Liev raised a piece of paper in the air. "I got the most recent news of Nikolai and Price's location!"

The name Price rung in Soap's ears. The memories wouldn't stop. Getting attacked in the alleyway had awoken something inside of the massive man, and his mind would not stop running.

"Nikolai and Price, they're on their way to assassinate Makarov."

Soap looked at him with intense blue eyes. "Makarov?"

Liev nodded. "The man you and Price had been hunting down before you got injured. In fact...that's how you got injured."

Soap hadn't really asked about his injury before, he wasn't sure if he was ready to hear about it. But Liev just threw it right at him. Soap couldn't stand anymore, his headache was far too overwhelming. The lights were too bright and his stomach churned. At this point, his headache was easily in the migraine status. He had to take a seat and hold his head.

Liev's hand found the man's broad shoulder. "...Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Soap snapped; he felt bad for not being able to hold back his frustrations. "So what's the news?"

Liev ignored Soap's irritated replied, and instead went straight into answering the question. "It means I can get in touch with Nikolai tomorrow. The three men have set-off to murder Makarov. That damn bastard...they found him in the Hotel Oasis in the Arabian Peninsula."

Soap knew it was astounding news, but he had really no idea what the importance of the locations were to him. It wasn't like he could go join them. Soap looked at Liev and merely nodded, and was ready to rest. He wasn't ready to take food and simply wanted to crash into a pillow. Throughout the day, Liev continued to check on Soap and was finding himself on the phone constantly. He worked hard for the man, Soap knew once his head wasn't throbbing he'd be eternally grateful to Liev and his actions.

As the day dragged on, Soap could barely take any food and his eyes ached from the sight of light. He felt pathetic hiding in the dark, but his body and mind told him to relax for once. Liev let the man rest, he knew Soap needed it. The ex-S.A.S. captain had been exerting himself nonstop and his memory was making a steady progression. Liev found the whole thing to be awe-inspiring and was glad he could be apart of it.

By the next day, Liev, after an additional several hours of waiting, got a hold of Nikolai.

Nikolai answered, "Привет? (Hello?)"

"Nikolai!" Liev said into the phone. Nikolai paused on the other end.

"Da?" He replied.

"You have to come back to Mělník, now."

"Oh, yeah?" Nikolai's voice was starting to sound increasingly more intrigued.

Liev swallowed with a growing excitement. Soap watched him from across the room. "It's Soap. He's back."

There was a long pause on the other end, Liev knew they had some distance on each other; he could hear a faint buzzing. "No. Fucking. Way."

"Da-you have to come now."

Immediately, Nikolai responded. "On it." Then there was a click. Liev put the phone down with a faint smile on his face and turned to look at Soap who bore a relieved expression. Liev nodded in his direction.

The rest of the day had taken long, but like Nikolai promised, he got "on it" and was able to reach Mělník by the next day in his Little Bird. Liev met Nikolai at the landing spot and was greeted with a strong pat on the back.

"Liev, the amount of gratitude I wish I could express right now-" Nikolai began.

Liev shook his head. "I had no part in his revival. That was you and that American."

"Still," Nikolai stated with bliss in his brown eyes, "you kept that Scotsman company, and that was important."

Liev accepted the appreciation, and couldn't help but feel somewhat proud. He was a young man who became encompassed in the war as things intensified. He was only 20 years old, and would easily admit to having Soap grow on him. He finally made it back to his family's house with Nikolai and eagerly opened the door. Nikolai walked in, and there he was, in all of his glory, was Soap sitting at the table.

Their eyes met as a huge smile crept onto Nikolai's face. He brought Soap into a huge man hug, where Soap willingly returned the gesture. Soap had lost weight, but Nikolai could tell he was gradually putting it back on.

Nikolai pulled back and exhaled with relief and just took in the image of Soap being alive and well. "I can't fucking believe it." He had to chuckle with manly glee. "Everyone thought you were KIA, yet here you are. You sure do know how to avoid death, don't you?"

Soap let a smile pull across his face. "I couldn't have done it without your help."

Nikolai rubbed his chin and pointed at Soap with his other hand. "That American, Shawn, he probably was the one who actually saved you. He was a determined fuck, that one. That Titan Task Force sure does know how to train its men. But oh, I'm getting carried away," Nikolai paused to ponder. "Makarov is dead, Soap."

At that, Soap was hit by a barrage of realization. Suddenly, he just _knew_ everything. His head returned to hurting but the amount of satisfaction that swirled around him was so rewarding that he couldn't care. An even bigger smile grew across his face. He ran his strong hand through his dark-hair and had a sudden urge to shave it all down. His heart pumped with a rush of energy, and he couldn't remember the last time he felt _this_ good.

"That's-that's fucking fantastic." Soap finally stated.

Nikolai nodded. "Price will want to hear from you. Luckily, I just saw that man recently. I can get in touch with him immediately. I'm sure he's on his way back to the U.K. right about now. It's funny, because the Titan Task Force I mentioned earlier, they're actually the ones who picked him up after he hung Makarov from a metal wire."

Holy shit. A metal wire? Soap couldn't help but be amused by the old man's tactics. "Price would manage to kill someone that way, and it was very appropriate. That bastard needed to go out in the most miserable way possible."

"You know," Nikolai started, "Price still thinks you're dead...you should talk to him."

Soap agreed immediately as Nikolai followed through with managing to get Price on the line.

Price felt the phone Nikolai had given him next to his arm vibrate. His eyes peered down through a lowered brow. He was exhausted and felt rather lost and depressed as he thought of his fallen friend. He was on a helicopter heading home, and considered not even answering. But he recognized the number as Nikolai's.

Rolling his tongue in his mouth and scratching his beard, he snatched up the phone.

"What?" His voice sounded hoarsely.

"Price," he heard Nikolai's voice on the other end. "I have someone who wants to talk to you."

Price didn't respond and waited on his end. His eyes staying locked onto the interior of the chopper in front of him. He suddenly heard the phone getting into the hands of a new person. Who could it _possibly_ be? He honestly didn't care.

It remained quiet for a second, then an all too familiar deep voice, laced in a Scottish accent, spoke into the other end. "I'm coming home, old man."

* * *

I wanted this chapter to move quickly that way I can just get straight to the point of the story. No one wants to read about Soap eating cereal. (Or maybe we do...)


	3. New Beginnings

**Chapter 3 - New Beginnings**

John Price sat before three men in the main office at Credenhill. One of the men was Oliver Lowe, the major of the S.A.S. base; he sat across from Price and stared at him intently from over his desk. Price appeared annoyed, stressed, and impatient all in one. The other two men were vastly different; one wore glasses, had his hair gelled back and was dressed in an official looking suit, and the other was one of the soldiers from the Credenhill base, who stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Price's eyes scanned over each of them. The one in the suit was a weak man, Price could read him like an open book.

"John," Major Lowe finally said. Price's eyes found him through a lowered brow. "You've done us all a fine service. Your actions alone has brought honor to the Special Air Service, and I'm proud to speak of your feats. But-" then Lowe interlaced his fingers together and sat them onto the desk, "but things are different now with the war over. I think now would be a good time for your to retire, and finally get the rest you deserve."

Price immediately knew where this was going; he knew way before he came in for his evaluation and he knew the man in the suit standing up was a psychiatrist. The suited man stared with judgmental eyes, had Price been in a different scenario, he'd call the man out. Oliver Lowe then gestured for the psychiatrist to pick up where he left off.

The man nodded quickly and pulled out some papers from his briefcase. He flipped through them with fast hands as Price and the major stared at each other. Finally, the suited man found what he wanted. He walked over in Price's direction then paused about four feet away.

He cleared his throat. "John Price," their eyes met and the man immediately felt the weight of Price's profound stare bear down onto his soul. "You're a highly intelligent man, there is no doubt about that! But you're showing...very high readings in paranoia and stress-"

"Get to the point." Price interrupted. The man could only stare momentarily before coughing and continuing.

"Right. So, in simple terms, not that you need simple terms! But many doctors would say that...well, that you're probably not mentally stable enough to continue your work in the S.A.S...or any branch of military for that matter."

Price sat up in his chair and open his hands out in front of him. "So you're politely calling me crazy?"

"I-well-"

"And you all no longer find me a benefactor, but actually, more or less, a risk?"

The three men stared at Price with a wide-array of emotions. All three couldn't think of the best response.

Price leaned back in his chair, set his left leg up on top of his right knee, and scratched his nose. "No need for pleasantries, gentlemen, I'd much rather have some honesty. This isn't just about my 'sanity', but more about my age as well? You find me too old."

Finally, the major answered this time. "John, the S.A.S. gets rid of their men by the time they reach 40-"

"You don't think I bloody know that?"

The major sighed through his nose and watched Price. He knew no one wanted to have to face the truth of their age and their forced retirement from something they've known their whole life. The S.A.S. welcomed John MacTavish back with opened arms, but still kept a watchful eye on him; the Scotsman was a righteous man, but he too had a history and his relationship with Price was strong.

"Price...listen," Lowe began with a smooth voice, "you've done us a great service. Your drive and determination knows no bounds. But with the war over, we are no longer in the need of your assistance. It's time to take a break, old man."

Price turned his head to the side, still keeping an eye on Lowe. His eyes eventually found the window where a light sprinkle was present outside. For some reason, being called "old man" by someone not too much younger than him was rather annoying.

Finally, Price's crystal blue eyes met the major. "Oliver, you and I both know it's not easy to just simply transition back into normal society. We're different than they are, our minds our different. We've seen friends die, enemies fall, and a lot of death. So, please tell me why you think a man like me can just...return to a normal everyday life, walk the streets with no direction, and miraculously blend in. It doesn't work that way."

Lowe was nodding steadily as Price talked, and once Price was finished with his sentence Lowe had to release a heavy exhale. Price was right, but Lowe still needed to be the one to tell Price it was ready to retire. "Price...I understand. I do. No one here is expecting you to enjoy it or make a smooth transition. That's why we're offering help for you. You know, to help you accept and rekindle with society. This is Robert Clarke, he's offering his service to you."

The suited man nodded and reached a hand out for Price to accept. Price stared at it and merely uttered a small chuckle. He felt attacked, he couldn't deny it. "I appreciate the gesture. But I'm going to have to past. Besides, I have to be somewhere soon. I got some catching up to do." With that Price stood, gave the men before him a nod of the head, but before he left, the major stopped him.

"John, remember, we can offer you help. You know where to go if you need it."

Price paused in the threshold briefly before finally making his way out the door where he found himself in an all too familiar place. The Credenhill base felt...different. It was cloudy and rainy, an eerie mist blew between the barracks. His thoughts trailed around and wandered over his past when he was captain of the 22nd Regiment. It was when he had the best team possible. Gaz was unstoppable and Soap was a talented, young F.N.G. that hungered for knowledge and action. But, things drastically changed then, and when change occurs, no matter how hard a person tries, they will never experience that same feeling again.

He felt suddenly out of place; unwanted and uncared for. The man had weary, but wise, eyes and wouldn't completely deny wanting some rest, but his blood and soul yearned for more. He now realized that he had no other choice but to settle down. He figured he could eventually apply to upper positions that do all of the leading and see no combat, but for now, he just wanted to walk away from all of it.

With Credenhill now behind him, he walked with wide-strides, hands in his pockets, and his mind elsewhere. His thoughts had fallen onto Soap. He was alive and thriving; it made Price's future seem less bleak. When Soap hopped off the plane after arriving in Credenhill, Price couldn't help but bring him into a man hug. Soap had evolved and developed into the most loyal and trustworthy person Price had ever encountered. He matured finely and managed to keep a strong head on his shoulders. Price deeply respected the man, and the feeling was mutual.

He eventually reached his car and fumbled with the keys before setting himself into the driver seat. The battle-hardened war vet needed a moment to just absorb everything that had just transpired. Every emotion seemed to be occurring at once. He was stoked to have the return of Soap, upset because things were different, mad because he was denied re-entry to the S.A.S., and now he was realizing how being called 'old' and 'crazy' made him feel. Price sighed and sank into his seat, before his eyes landed on his phone in the cup holder.

His left hand found the phone, dialed a number, and then brought the mobile device to his ear. He listened to the phone ring almost a solid three times before it got answered.

"Aye?" Soap's voice sounded from the other end.

Despite the old man being annoyed at the current transpiring events, the familiar sound of Soap's voice caused a small smile to grow on Price's bearded face. "Soap, I'm running a bit early. Everything didn't take as long as expected. I'm making my way on over to the pub."

"Sounds good, Price." Soap replied, "I am running a wee bit behind the originally planned schedule. These bastards are taking forever...I kind of get the sense that they feel the need to crack down on my every movement. Also, turns out, trying to prove to the world you are, in fact, not dead takes quite a lot of time and paper work."

"No rush, son. Finish what you need to get done. Proving you're still alive is more important."

Price heard Soap's exasperated sigh through the receiver. "Alright, I'll be at the pub around 1400 hours."

Price nodded, gave a quick farewell, and sat the phone back down before starting his car. As he drove away, he couldn't resist the urge to glance in his rearview mirror one last time at the disappearing peaks and metal rooftops of Credenhill. He was starting to feel so depressed all of the sudden. His shoulders dropped and his eyebrows lowered. Everything was _gone_. Gaz. The days in the 22nd Regiment. Task Force 141. The war was over, and Makarov was dead. The only thing Price had left was Soap. The old man, at one point, was completely willing to just let everything go after he had hung Makarov from a rooftop. He figured, 'fuck it, I'm done'. But, something told him to just tough it out a little longer. Make it back to the UK, get debriefed, and try to get back into enjoying life once again now that his name was clear and he was back home. Luckily for him, he was willing to push himself back onto the helicopter the Titan Task Force had sent, with Shorty as the pilot; had he not, he never would have received that fateful call from Soap, that had him nearly falling to his knees.

Time felt like it dragged on as Price's thoughts wandered freely. He had finally reached the pub, parked his car, and stepped out. He couldn't recall the last time he had a nice, smooth, and rich lager; he wasn't even sure he was actually in the mood for one. But, he needed some quiet time before meeting up with his old friend, and was willing to walk himself inside and find a seat. In the matter of few quiet minutes, Price was finally waited on, and was served the house lager he had requested. His eyes ran over the glass tankard that had a golden, foamy head that sat atop it. He ran his tongue over his teeth and finally persuaded himself to take a sip.

It was cold and smooth, but it wasn't a good as he remembered. Such was his life now; nothing was ever going to be as good as he remembered. While he slowly drank from his glass, he felt a change around him, as if a powerful aura had made its way beside him. He suddenly heard a calming, suave voice.

"Surprised you have your hat off, old man. I almost didn't recognize you."

Price grimaced as he opened his mouth, "Is that supposed to be funny-" His eyes then found the man who had spoken. He immediately recognized it as the man who had been in charge of the team that came to retrieve Price on that historic night that Makarov met his death. The man had dark, almost black hair with welcoming green eyes, and a calming smile. Just the way he stared at you was enough to settle anyone back down into their seats.

"Samson?" Price had to completely turn to face him as Samson took a seat down by him. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Checking in. I heard about your retirement."

Price immediately gave him a stare of disbelief. "How'd you-how would you already know that?"

Samson gave a friendly smirk. "We have our ways."

"That sounds awfully sketchy, son." Price stated flatly as he took a sip of beer; some of the foam grabbing onto the hair that covered his lip.

"Price, we've been keeping an eye on you because we-" the server suddenly came up.

"Sorry! Just wanted to get your order." She said quickly as her hands fumbled with a tray.

"Just get me a pint of your house lager," Samson answered and nodded as she returned to her work. He brought his arms up and rested his hands on the bar tabletop before him. His green eyes returned to Price who was awaiting an explanation. "You're talented, Price. We've worked together before, back in the days of the active resistance; I saw you. You have tremendous drive and extraordinary leadership skills."

Price sniffed as he looked back to the televisions before him. "Cut to the chase. I need to know what could an American possibly want with an old Brit like me."

Samson smiled, the old man always knew what he wanted. "Just know that you can be appreciated somewhere again, where you're wanted, where people respect you; a place where you don't get evaluated based upon your age or mental stability." The man's wide-palmed hand reached down into his back jean pocket, where he quickly retrieved what he had reached for.

"Sounds awfully like you're offering me a job," Price muttered.

Samson placed a card onto the smooth finished bar top, and slid the card in Price's direction with his pointer finger. Price's eyes found the piece of paper. "We're always looking for people, Price. Talented men and women, anyone who can offer their skills." Samson began to study Price's face, and immediately saw that he hadn't quite baited the man yet. "What are your plans, Price?"

Samson was fluent and kind enough to where his question didn't come across as intrusive, but rather, expressing concern. Price shifted in his seat and crossed his arms before his chest.

"Plans? Considering I've been forced to settle down, I'm just going to willingly take a break." Price voice was tricky to read, but Samson saw right through the tough exterior and was able to detect uncertainty in the man's voice.

"We all know that you can't simply settle down, Price. None of us can. The way we're trained, the way we operate, it becomes who we are." Samson spoke steadily as his beer order was set before him. He thanked the waiter and returned his eye back onto Price. "Consider the offer, old friend. We're here if you need us, and we can genuinely offer the appropriate kind of assistance. You're not alone." Samson began to stand while placing a gentle hand onto Price's shoulder. He gave the old man a quick pat as he pushed his high top chair in.

Price looked at him in his peripherals. "Aren't you forgetting your drink?"

Samson flashed that warming smile and slid Price some money. "There's that drink I owed you." Price watched him as he began to turn away, but then he quickly remembered something and paused. "Oh, and give your friend my regards."

With that Samson began to make his way for the front entrance where he passed up Soap along the way. The large Scotsman had just made his way through the door and caught the tail end of the conversation as he approached. As the two passed each other, their eyes met. Soap locked onto Samson's kind eyes, where he was met with a nod and a smile from Samson who passed him up as quickly as he had smiled. Soap followed the man's movements as he watched him leave through the door and walk down the sidewalk and out of sight. Growing confused, Soap turned his attention towards his old captain who sat drearily at the unpopulated bar.

Making his way slowly toward Price, he found himself pulling the chair out that Samson was just at. Soap's eyes ran over the two tankards, one empty and one full, and then landed on Price. "What was that all about?"

Price's sharp eyes met up with Soap's soft stare. "Old friend."

Soap raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? May I ask how you two know each other?" He suddenly turned his head back towards the front entrance and narrowed his eyes in thought. "Come to think of it...he looked familiar."

Price's strong hand reached for the second lager and pulled it closer to him. "He was with a task force that was assisting in the resistance against the Ultranationalists. You may or may not remember him. Americans. We didn't see them too much, but they were around." His eyes suddenly landed on the card Samson had slid in his direction moments before. It bore a unique logo of a scale and two overlapping swords. The only letters on it were TTF, and some methods for setting up communications. A simple phone call would not suffice.

Soap nodded as his eyes landed back on Price. He noticed the old man's stare and couldn't help but follow it. His eyes observed the business card before him, but Price's hand quickly snatched it up and followed through by placing it in his pant pocket. Soap's attention immediately fell onto the aged man, and couldn't help but immediately sense a certain tension swarming around Price.

Soap gestured his head in Price's direction. "What was that?"

"Nothing to worry about, son." Price began. The server returned to get Soap's order, but the man hesitated. "Get something, Soap. You can have one drink with me."

Soap leaned back into his chair and placed his hands onto his once again buzzed head and well-groomed mohawk. He was one of few men who could pull off the look. "Eh, if you insist. Get me the stout."

"16 ounce or 24 ounce?" The server asked.

"24," Price answered for Soap.

Soap had to smile, "Alright, 24 it is." The server nodded and walked off hurriedly. The two men didn't know why she seemed to be in such a rush, they were two of very few people that populated the bar. Instantly, Soap's blue eyes fell onto Price and stared at him intently. He knew something was wrong. "Price, you're going to have to tell me what is eating at you."

Price sighed and repositioned in his seat. "My military career is behind me now, Soap. It's time to move on and take a break."

Soap absorbed the comment and pondered over it. He finally sat back up and placed his arms onto the tabletop. "Wait, you mean-" The server returned with Soap's stout. His eyes ignoring it.

"Retirement, Soap. S.A.S. and the Royal Army said it's time to get some rest."

The Scotsman had to narrow his eyes at the comment. "Well, that's horseshit. You'd think they'd have a little more respect-"

Price could tell Soap was beginning to get worked up, so he had to intervene to get him to take it down a notch. No one wants to see an angry Scotsman. "Soap, I turn 50 in January. They're right."

Soap's mouth hung slightly open as he prepared a response. "So what? What the bloody hell is stopping you from pursuing something else?"

"Apparently, my old age and sanity, or lack-there-of." Price replied with a raspy voice.

"They gave you a fuckin' insanity evaluation, too? The audacity-"

"Soap, please," Price raised a hand. "What matters is that you're back. You get to be a captain again, train the incoming F.N.G., all while enjoying the lifestyle that Credenhill can offer you. Don't get caught up on me."

Soap's shoulders slumped as he released a heavy sigh. "Price, that's the thing. I don't know...I'm not sure if everything is all right."

Price raised an eyebrow at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Everything is so...so odd now; it's outlandish, it doesn't feel right. The worse part is, I feel like they're holding back on giving me the full briefs on everything, and hiding information from me, as if they don't trust me. That's an awfully shitety feeling." Soap allowed his eyes to drift as he rested his broad chin onto his fist. "They keep asking questions about you, Price."

"Like what?" Price crossed his arms.

Soap was staring down at his drink, and decided to take a large gulp. He sat it down, exhaled and returned his attention to Price. "Constantly asking about your whereabouts, your plans, just questions concerning your personal life. I do not like it. Seems suspicious."

"Soap, they're just keeping tabs on me. It's obvious. They know you have a close relationship with me. Even though our names are cleared, they still have access to our past. It's no doubt they are skeptical about the returning of two ex-war convicts."

"Oh, for Christ's sakes," Soap murmured. "Then why did they even bother allowing us to return? Or for me to get reaccepted into the S.A.S.? I'd rather them just be honest and blatantly say, 'Oh, no! You two are absolutely unpredictable. Please don't come back.'" Soap had to have a quick, amused chuckle. "Look, Price. It's like this. If they don't respect me, how should I respect them?"

Price's eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of someone snapping a quick picture of them through the glass windows. The man quickly wandered off. Price's brow lowered. Soap immediately saw the stare and looked over his shoulder with anxiousness.

"The fuck-"

"Soap," Price patted the man's strong shoulder, "let's go to the race track, we can catch up some more there."

Soap immediately agreed, as the two downed their drinks, paid the bill, then left through the front doors. At the horse race track, the two of them watched the horses gallop by and the jockeys prep their horses. Price and Soap hung over the side of the white fence and watched with contentment. It brought back memories of their past together, and it was relieving. Price lit a Villa Clara cigar as the two of them talked quietly, saying few words, but the words were full of meaning. It was cloudy as always, but the space around them was serene.

After spending two hours as the race track, Soap finally noticed the time. "Price, I am going to visit my mum tonight. Poor woman thought she buried her son a few weeks ago. I'd like to check in," he stated as his eyes moved away from his wristwatch.

Price nodded. "You do what you need to, son." They sat there in a brief silence as Price began to ponder over his encounter with Samson, and how the offer suddenly didn't seem so bad. He finally broke the silence, "Soap, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. And I think now is the best time to say something." He puffed on his cigar before continuing; Soap's eyes running over him. "You're the son I've never had. This last time, I was convinced you were gone, dead, along with my willingness to care."

Soap's expression drastically changed. He appeared caring and somewhat overwhelmed with emotion. "Price…"

"I figured I failed as a father for my daughter. She just graduated from college, and I couldn't be there for her because we were out running around, avoiding detection, and hunting terrorists. I like to believe that I at least was able to be there for you when I couldn't be there for my daughter." Price allowed for what he said to sink in; he couldn't remember the last time he had opened up that much.

Soap didn't know the best way to respond, but he was honored and content. "That means a lot. Thank you."

Price nodded, and was ready to move on from the emotional moment. "You better go see your mother."

Soap agreed and with that, the two parted ways. What Soap didn't know was that was going to be the last time he was going to get to see Price again, at least for awhile. Price was starting to grow more intrigued by the thought of assisting the TTF with any missions and tasks they would throw at him, and he was willing to give it a shot. He also knew that he now had to keep communications with Soap at a minimum. He didn't want to, but he knew it was important at the moment, especially since he knew that the Royal Army was now using Soap to get to him. It broke his heart knowing that he had to now break off communications temporarily with Soap, but it was necessary.

Back at Credenhill, Soap reached for his phone to send his mother a call. The phone rang once before she eagerly answered.

"Hello, mum," Soap stated into the phone.

"Oh, John, it brings joy to my heart hearing your voice again," his mother had a soft, sweet voice. He had almost forgotten how kind she sounded. "Are you still going to make it for dinner? I hope you're not starving. It's already so late!"

Hearing his mother's voice again brought a smile on his face, a smile that he would shine when he was a young boy. "I'm leaving now, I should make it over by 1900 hours."

He heard his mother huff quietly into the phone. "John, you know I don't know all of that military time!"

Soap emitted a small chuckle. "About 7:00 P.M., mum."

"Oh, great! Duncan and Lacie will be here too," his mother claimed with a mild charm. Those were his two siblings. Soap found himself in the middle. "Oh! And your nieces and nephews." This was turning into an all out get together. Then Soap heard something odd, something was off. He heard a click in his ear, and what he thought was a male's voice. Soap paused.

"Did you hear that?"

His mom sat silently for a moment. "Hear what?"

"Is Duncan already there?"

"No, not yet, why? You sound scared, John." His mother's voice lowered. She knew her son was different, no longer the young man she had known back from his childhood.

He noticed that their voices seemed to reverberate back, and he couldn't help but feel like someone was listening to their conversation. Not wanting to scare his mother further, he wrapped up the conversing. "Hmm, maybe some connection issues. I'll see you soon."

"Alright, John. See you soon, darling."

With that, the conversation ended and Soap was left to get lost in his thoughts. After having met up with Price, his paranoia and suspicions had skyrocketed. He couldn't help but notice odd things, such as swearing he was seeing the same faces, feeling watched, just everything. He tried to convince himself to calm down, but his gut had never let him down yet.

The dinner with his family was great. He was greeted with an over-amount of love and joy, he welcomed it. While they sat around and chatted at the dinner table, he smiled and chuckled with his siblings while they talked, but he could tell that they knew he was different. A changed man. He knew the things that once made him laugh and smile, would no longer have the same effects on him. Soap felt somewhat guilty, knowing that he wasn't as conversational as they may have liked, but his emotions and mind were elsewhere, in addition to feeling overwhelmed.

Eventually, by 8:30, he was ready to get heading back to base to get some rest. He still felt tired a lot, and the recent amount of paperwork, paranoia, and stress had begun to take its toll on him. Soap was ready to crash into a bed, where he probably would still get no sleep. Lately, he had been staying up through the majority of the night, just writing, drawing, and working out. One may say he had developed insomnia, but he knew it was just his mind and body still trying to hone in on a single goal.

On his walk back to base, he heard someone utter his name from a bench that sat under a lone streetlight. He paused and looked over his shoulder.

"John, take a seat." It was a woman's voice. From where he stood, all he could see was the back of a black Sutton rain hat, a red trench coat, and a few loose, dark blonde trellises. He blinked and slowly made his way around the bench, where only her chin and lips were now visible.

"Do I know you?"

She sat in silence for a little bit before flashing her eyes up at him from under the rim of her hat. He still couldn't make out her face. "Please, take a seat."

He hesitated before finally finding a spot near her. His eyes stared ahead into the wet street, before they landed on the side of her face.

She finally spoke. "Are you doing better?"

"What?"

"I asked if you were doing better. You know, after your recovery?"

As if his paranoia couldn't get any worse, he began to worry and wonder how she seemingly already knew so much about him. "Sure."

She turned her head to face him where her pink, heart-shaped lips became prominent from the streetlight. "For a man who's finally made it back home and returned to the life he once had, you sure do sound disheartened."

He blinked in her direction as he leaned forward, just hoping to see more of her face. She watched him closely. "What do you want?"

"Things are different now, aren't they? Nothing seems natural," she spoke silently, "everything seems forced, and you can just _sense_ the changing tides. So, now I must ask, are you happy?"

He rested his elbows on his knees, and for some very odd reason, her voice was causing certain memories to come back. "What kind of question is that?'

She finally lifted the rim of her hat up, revealing more of her face. He suddenly realized that he recognized her from somewhere, but couldn't put a finger on it. "Please, don't be hostile. I'm not here to be intrusive. I apologize for coming off that way."

He eased down slightly, but wasn't ready to just tell her his feelings. She had no right to know, anyways. "If you don't mind, I'd much appreciate it if you just got to the point."

She smiled faintly as he got a glimpse of her wide, round eyes. "Are you ready for something better? Do you want to be apart of something where you feel appreciated again, a place you can continue doing what you love, but no longer feel anxious?"

He stared into her face. She had soft features from what he could see. He lowered his eyebrows into a curious stare. "What, do you have some kind of proposition?"

"We heard back from your old man. Samson did a fine job at persuading him. We're always looking for versatile, elite soldiers. Sometimes we have to do some scrapping, but that's where you find the best men and women; soldiers who feel like they have nothing left to lose."

He continued to watch her from the corner of his vision. She turned her head back towards the road, bit the inside of his cheek, and brought herself up. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a card to hand to him. He stared at it blankly, but then recognized the symbol. So he slowly reached out to grab it; noticing how much bigger his hand was compared to her's. She suddenly signaled a taxi. He brought his eyes up to her.

"What kind of work would I be getting into." He asked with a deep voice.

"We're private contractors. We're a multi-billion dollar industry. Not run by the military, but we're what people send in when they don't want to spend millions on sending in military personnel." She shot her eyes in his direction. "You can be valued again, Soap." She said with a soft voice.

His eyes widened. "How would you-" He quickly stood, where he found himself staring down at her. "Wait, have we met before?"

She shrugged. "Maybe." A faint smirk pulled across her face as a taxi pulled up. She opened the door, but before jumping in she looked at him. "Remember, you are wanted somewhere. You're not alone in this cruel world." Her eyes shifted around as she lowered her voice. "Also, you're being watched right now."

With that, she pulled herself in as the taxi drove off. Soap immediately began scanning his surroundings before peering down at the card. Titan Task Force. Maybe starting somewhere fresh; starting a new beginning wouldn't be so bad.


	4. Transitions

Chapter 4 - Transitions

Soap sat at a desk and observed the card he had obtained from the mystery woman, whom he recognized but couldn't place a finger on. It had been a full week now since he had received the card, and since then, he hadn't heard from Price either. It nerved him not knowing the old man's whereabouts, or even if he was just alive and well. He ran his tongue over his teeth and leaned into the desk to return to writing in his journal. The feeling of indecision was eating at him. If he decided to join the TTF, he doubted the S.A.S. would take him back a second time, and he was afraid to take that risk. However, he was also feeling rather depressed staying at Credenhill while he waited for his updated paperwork to get processed. That was another thing, what was taking so long? They allowed for him to return and stay to train incoming F.N.G.'s , despite not technically being accepted back in.

He had the urge to take a smoke break with one of the Villa Clara cigars Price had handed him before leaving, but at the same time, he felt like saving it for when he got to see the old man again. So he decided against it and then allowed for his thoughts to wander. What was the best thing to do? What was the safest choice? He assumed Price had taken the job offer and immediately set off, especially after finding out from Soap that he had tabs that were being kept on him.

Suddenly, he felt a vibration reverberate off of the table; his eyes followed the source and landed onto the phone next to him. His hand was swift with anxiousness to grab it up; narrowing his eyes at the number, he realized it was a number he had never seen, and it was too long of a number to be from a phone. Not missing a beat, he answered immediately.

"Hello?"

There was a brief silence before a man's voice sounded from the other end. He had a smooth voice. "John MacTavish." Before Soap could answer, the man continued to speak. "Or do you prefer, Soap? Price told me that you usually go by that. Whatever suits you."

Soap blinked and took everything in. "Who is this?"

"Samson Dresden. Team leader to the Darkhorse division; one of four branches to the Titan Task Force. We passed each other up the other day at the pub. It's good to see you back to proper health."

Soap rubbed his brow and sighed. "Alright, Samson. What is it that you want? Why are you all finally breaking your mysterious character?"

He could almost see the nod Samson was giving in response. "You deserve to know everything, Soap. And it's been a solid seven days since we were in contact; it felt like a decent time to check in. I figured you were having doubts, as would anyone, it's an uncomfortable position to be in-you aren't the first. So, I'm all ears. What do you want to know?"

"Who are you all?" Soap was quick to reply; he was ready for answers.

"By now you know that we go by Titan Task Force. The TTF isn't owned by any government or military. We're a private company that deals with the messy stuff. Not everyone wants to send military personnel in; it's expensive and no one wants to risk losing men. So, we get contacted and paid to do the nitty-gritty tasks. Drug lords, sex traffickers, petty terrorists; we like to think we can put a halt to potential threats to prevent them from developing into something bigger than just 'petty'."

Soap listened carefully.

"Think of it as a...balancing act of justice and order. You will never see us doing anything harmful to innocents or to the general welfare. We simply intervene when government wants a cheaper way out."

"You all sound like mercenaries to me," Soap proclaimed with low voice.

Before speaking, Samson took a moment of silence. "That word gets tossed around a lot. As it should. The difference is, we don't deal with criminals. We handle the criminals, but you won't see us working for them. That brings me back to the whole...justice and order idea. Private contractors is a more fitting term. Plus, we aren't outlawed that way."

Soap nodded. "And what do you want with me?"

"Well, we were involved with the Russian resistance. We provided a lot of reinforcements, soldiers and equipment, when things got rough for you all. You personally didn't see us much; we were dealing mostly with a different set of people, and we encountered Price more frequently than we got to with you. So we're somewhat familiar with your past and your skills; initially, Price grabbed our attention. Our commander...he isn't in the best of health. What better person for a job like that than Price? Then, Price swears by you. We have some documentation on you. You've seen quite a lot. We need people like that."

Samson took a second to ponder his next set of words. "We lost several members not too long ago. During the war. We need soldiers again now that the war is behind us and we can resume with our previous tasks. We see you as a unique asset, and your talents can be utilized again. Wouldn't you rather see the action again, instead of be stuck at Credenhill, constantly being analyzed and judged? But I digress...the S.A.S. puts out some incredible soldiers, and we are seeing an opportunity that we can't pass up."

"And what about the women? The one who stopped me on the street?" Soap inquired.

"That was Ricochet, our reconnaissance sniper," Samson answered calmly.

Soap didn't have a response ready and allowed for the information to sink into his head. The offer was steadily becoming more interesting. Finally, he was ready to speak. "Alright, Samson, you have my full attention. But before I do anything, I need to speak to Price."

Samson didn't hesitate to pass the call off to Price. There was several moments of silence that Soap found himself sitting in, but eventually he heard Price's rugged voice.

"Still running over things, are we?"

Soap exhaled and rose from his chair. He suddenly felt restless and wanted to pace around while he talked. Hearing Price's voice again was uplifting. "Price, I'm just overwhelmed. I don't know what to expect-"

"Think of it like this: it's a highly organized, well-profited business that deals in the stuff we used to handle back in our day. Just take the intensity level down a notch. Everyone here is ex-special forces or military. There's military grade weaponry and equipment. Honestly, it's fitting for where we are finding ourselves, Soap."

"Price, you haven't been there long enough to actually experience anything real yet." Soap could hear a growing commotion in the background on Price's end. It sounded like the engine of a small plane starting up.

"You're right, I haven't. But I know professionalism and organization when I see it," he heard Price suddenly sigh. "Soap, I'm going to have to break off communication with you. I don't want anyone uninvited in my business. Listen, son. You do what you want. Don't do something just because I'm doing it-"

"Wait, Price-"

"Soap, you have the card. Contact them whenever you need to. We're currently stationed by the English Channel awaiting the arrival of the cargo ship to take us to Croatia. Time of departure is tomorrow at 2100 hours. That gives you roughly 31 hours to decide."

"That sounds like an ultimatum. If I'm not ready by then I never get to hear from you again?"

Price paused momentarily. "It'll be quite some time in between the communications." Suddenly the commotion on Price's end increased, making audibility on Soap's end difficult. "I have to go now, Soap."

"Price-" then Soap heard the connection break. He lowered his phone down and stared at it with irritation. "Damn it." His eyes scanned the space of his corridors; his mind paying little attention to what his eyes were showing him. He let all of what just transpired to absorb into his thoughts, where he began weighing his options. Sure, he had a solid day to run over things, but even then it still felt like he had very little time to decide.

Soap threw a change of clothes on and left the room to go run some courses. After a few hours of running courses, showing newbies around the camp, and doing exercises, he had been ordered to report to the main office. He figured it was news of his processed paperwork for reentry into the S.A.S.; he could feel his stomach churn with uncertainty as one of the men from the camp grabbed his attention and beckoned for him. Following the man, Soap's eyes stared intently at his surroundings as his mind honed in with thoughtfulness.

Eventually, Soap found himself sitting before Oliver Lowe, the major at Credenhill. Little did Soap know that his old man was sitting in the same position just a week before. The scenario was eerily similar; with Lowe staring from across his desk into Soap's face, the one lone soldier standing nearby, then of course, Robert Clarke, the therapist. Soap felt the three men's stare bearing down on him. He returned the stare and waited for someone to speak.

Lowe peered down at some papers before him before finally pulling his eyes back up to meet Soap's stare. "John MacTavish. We've heard of John Price's disappearance. Do you know anything about this?"

Soap's eyes flashed with a sudden annoyance. "Is this supposed to be about my paperwork or an interrogation?"

The major sat his hands atop his desk. "It's just a simple question, lad. We haven't seen or heard from Price in over almost an entire week. We knew you had a close relationship with him, and we're simply checking to see if you've heard from him."

Soap moved his head slightly to the side where he continued to stare out of the corner of his vision. He wasn't in the mood to talk about any of this, and he could tell the major was playing the game of ignorant innocence.

"You all seem to care an awful lot about the old man." Soap's voice was deep.

Lowe nodded. "We care about all of our men."

"Enough to follow their footsteps? Did you ever consider that the man was trying to enjoy his retirement?"

"We have reasons to believe that the man didn't just simply settle down somewhere cozy." The major said as he sat back in his chair.

Suddenly, Robert Clarke felt the need to chime in. "Price needs to have his whereabouts checked. He's mentally unstable and spastic-"

"Clarke," the major raised his hand to halt the therapist's words. Soap's eyes landed on the therapist in the corner with irritation. "John, we got wind of Price getting in contact with...a private company. Something we don't condon. Do you know who he had contact with?"

Soap's eyes landed back onto the major. The Scotsman was caught off guard. "I have no knowledge of that."

"You sure?" Clarke spoke up again.

Soap glared at him, "I'm sorry, but who the hell is this muppet?" He gestured in the man's direction.

Lowe rubbed his chin and waved off the comment nonchalantly. "Robert Clarke, he's one of the therapists assigned to Credenhill."

"He talks an awful lot for just a therapist. I thought therapists were supposed to listen to their clients, not talk over them." Soap stated flatly. "Also, I need to know why you all don't trust Price. He's done nothing but bring honor to us."

The major eyeballed Soap. "Price is indeed an honorable person, but he has a history, and we owe it to him to offer him support and assistance whenever he needs it."

"If he clearly needed it, he'd be here right now." Soap was growing impatient. Credenhill offered people and a place he once trusted, but he was now questioning just how necessary is was for him to stay put.

Once again, Robert Clarke had to put in his two cents. "Price is too stubborn to admit when he has a problem-"

"For fuck's sakes, can you please have him remove himself?" Soap barked.

"He stays," Lowe disclaimed through a thick mustache. Immediately, Soap eyes locked onto him. Soap was suddenly feeling incredibly unwanted and outlandish.

Finally, Soap knew where he wanted to be. He was hit with a realization that things were just different-changed, and never to be the same again. So instead of fighting it, Soap was going to let the wind of fate carry him where he needed to be.

Soap was ready to wrap up the conversation. "Why don't any of you trust us?"

"We do trust you, we just need to keep an eye on our men. We know that transitioning is hard." Lowe responded with very little genuine concern in his voice. All eyes were on Soap.

He straightened his posture and returned the stare. "So you do that by following them around, tracing them, and tapping into phone calls?" He was met with stillness, so he decided to continue, "Do you all think I'm an idiot? At least try to change up the faces that are following me around. I'm actually rather disappointed...I trusted this place."

"MacTavish, the Royal Army got involved. We couldn't tell them to back off." Lowe proclaimed openly, something he probably shouldn't have done but he was beginning to feel for the man.

Soap nodded steadily. "I'm under the impression that Clarke over there isn't even a therapist." Yet again, Soap was only met with silence and blank expressions; the only thing different was the amused grin that crept onto Clarke's face. Feeling no longer entertained, Soap's spirits dropped. "I'm done talking. Let's talk about my application for reentry. Are they processed yet?"

The major glanced down at his hands where the papers sat. "No, they're still processing-"

"Good. Cancel the processing." Soap began to rise.

"And where are you going? There's still much more to discuss." The "therapist" commented. Soap stared daggers into him as he moved for the door.

"No, I'm done." With that, Soap made his way swiftly for the door. "I'll grab my things and be on my way." He removed himself as quickly as he stood and found himself standing outside. The day was actually sunny today. Even though Soap felt disheartened he was warmed by the bright, yellow rays of the sun that shined onto his body. He heard the door open behind him, he figured it was the soldier who was once inside, and was now following him out to escort him to his belongings. When he glanced over his shoulder, not only was it the soldier, but Robert Clarke as well.

Clarke caught up to Soap and walked by his side. Soap didn't like how close he was next to him.

"John, you can't just leave." Clarke claimed.

"Watch me." Soap broadened his strides, but Clarke kept up. "Will you bug off, wanker."

"No need for the name calling-"

Soap suddenly stopped and turned to face Clarke, he stepped closer as his aura overcame Clarke's. The man felt Soap's overwhelming presence bearing down on him, but he was holding his ground. "Listen, you've done nothing but disrespect Price and myself. We've seen and been through a lot of shite. I don't need you, or anyone else for that matter, snooping around in my business and insulting my character. Now back the fuck off."

The soldier stepped forward, but Soap could easily tell that he was still a F.N.G. Soap returned to walking, and figured he was clear with his message. Clarke remained stationary while the soldier followed Soap's footsteps.

"Don't do anything you regret, MacTavish," Clarke shouted after him. Soap ignored the comment and made his way towards his things that were locked up inside his dorm.

Once Soap made it back to his room, he switched out of his workout clothes and quickened his pace. He suddenly felt very anxious. He snatched up what little belongings he had, threw the gym bag over his shoulder, and made his way for the exit. The soldier continued to accompany Soap until they reached the perimeter of the gates, where Soap sent nod in his direction.

"Good luck, lad." Soap said as he began to walk down the road. The young soldier watched with observant eyes before rounding on his heels to return to the base.

Soap moved swiftly as he fumbled for his phone. He stared at it momentarily before peering around at his surroundings. He probably needed to call a taxi, he considered walking all alone down a secluded road wasn't the best thing for him to do at the moment. Soap still felt watched, he was disappointed, and to top it off, he felt a bit lost. At this point, he figured 'fuck it, I got nothing to lose', and he was finally willing to reach out to the TTF. Knowing Price would be present was heart-warming, and he was eager to fight along side that man again.

So he hit up a taxi and met up with it 4 km down the road from Credenhill. The day had luckily been gorgeous, he lucked out on that one because 8 out of 10 times he would have been walking in rain. He let the taxi take him as far as he could afford, including the tip, before hopping out and returning to striding through the streets of Gloucester. He had no cash on him and had to search for an ATM. He refused to use a card. Soap didn't want to take any chances. His legs moved him quickly along as he placed a hat atop to his to hide some of his appearance. His size alone could easily give him away, but he stayed alert.

Finally finding an ATM, he withdrew all the cash he had, kept his M9 handgun hidden away, and found a lonely bus stop to wait at. While he stood silently, he considered calling the number on the card, which he was now keeping close to his side. However, at the moment, Soap was still rather paranoid and wanted to play it safe and save it for the next bus stop. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he glanced at his watch; a shadow casted from his hat veiling his face. He figured he looked potentially sketchy. Standing at a bus stop, wearing a hat, a hoodie and jeans, tapping his foot, carrying a large bag, all while trying to resist the urge to glance at his wristwatch.

After a ten minute wait of looking over his shoulder and playing with the ends of his hoodie, the bus arrived to take him to the next stop, where he would then make several calls. He paid a fee and found a lonely seat near the back, where he spent the next 35 minutes with a 6 year-old girl staring at him from over the seat. His eyes stayed focused on the images out of the window, but he couldn't completely ignore the little girl's big brown eyes.

"Sophie, don't be rude." Her mother then tugged on her shirt. She blinked once at Soap, he couldn't resist flashing her a quick smirk before her head disappeared over the side. He sighed and allowed his head to rest back against the seat. He looked at his watch. It was Tuesday and the clock read 1828 hours. It had already been a long day and he was ready to find a place to crash. Soap would have preferred visiting his mother one last time, but he was on high alert and knew stopping by there would be an easy move to predict.

The bus eventually made a stop near the town of Bristol. Soap took his leave as the mother and little girl stood as well to walk towards the front of the bus; the little girl kept turning around to peep at him. Like all moms, the mother couldn't ignore how much her daughter was staring the man down behind them. The little girl was drawn towards Soap's size and his calming, blue eyes.

Once outside, he began searching for a hotel to crash in. He was somewhat familiar with the area; he had made several stops here during his reign in the 22nd Regiment. After twenty minutes of strolling, he came by The Horseshoe bed and breakfast that he swiftly walked towards once it came into sight. Luckily, it was a weekday, meaning the likelihood of there being an available room would show a higher chance. Soap brought himself inside and found himself standing in the foyer of a quaint, little cottage. A lady in another room caught the movement in her peripherals and went to greet the guest.

Soap's eyes ran over the wallpaper and the crown molding near the ceiling.

The middle-aged woman approached. "Can I help you, love?"

His eyes found her quickly. "Aye. I'm looking for a room. The cheapest one available will do."

She smiled up at him. "We have two single rooms available at the moment. Which one would you like?" Her English accent was thick.

"Doesn't matter. Surprise me."

She nodded and went off to grab a key. "I'll show you to your room."

"Thank you," Soap replied as he followed her little steps up the stairs. She had a certain skip to her step; she was a jolly woman who had experienced a lot of joy in her life.

Once to the room, she unlocked the door and pushed it open for him, and gestured for him to continue. "Staying all alone, darling?"

Soap walked through the threshold. "Aye."

Her small hand found his arm. "Don't hesitate to get me if you need any assistance. I'm the caretaker, so I stay here every night. I'm on the first floor all the way to the back."

He thanked her, gave her quick nod, and once she walked off he hastily closed the door and found a comfortable seat on the edge of the bed where he immediately reached for the card and his phone. His blue eyes ran over the surface of the card; his right hand gripping the phone tightly. Swallowing hard, he began to dial the odd number.

Bringing the phone to his ear, he waited and listened to the ring back of the call. On the second ring, someone answered. But it wasn't a voice he recognized. It was a raspy voice, but nothing like Price's.

"What's up." The voice said.

Soap blinked and paused. At first he was afraid to answer. "Is...is Samson there?"

"One second."

So Soap waited momentarily before he recognized Samson's voice on the other end. "Soap?"

"Samson," Soap spoke with his deep voice and bit his lip. "I-I accept your offer."

"Terrific. We're departing tomorrow at 2100 hours. There's a private dock back in the wooded area near the southwestern channel border in Dorchester. We have to leave right on the dot…"

"I'll be there." Soap instantly replied.

He could sense the content smile that pulled across Samson's face. "Welcome aboard." But before Samson hung up, he had to a few more things to say. "Soap, our intelligence source has picked up some interference in our lines. Thankfully, they were able to block the signal, so this call is fortunately not being tapped. However, we do have to change our method of contact. I'm giving you the codename 'Themis' to use. T-H-E-M-I-S. Send a text to 1-96887-2. Use those hyphens. Our computers will pick it up, then we can set up a new connection with you. Once that's done, we should be able to talk freely, should you need it."

Soap quickly used the scrap paper and pen on his nightstand to write down the information. "Got it."

"Take care, Soap. Your old man is...well he looks excited for someone as battle-hardened as he is."

Soap heard a click and followed up by setting his phone down and getting it set up with a charger. He sigh and crashed into the bed. There was something about Samson's voice that was just...promising. Soap no longer felt worried or nervous, in fact, he was thrilled. Oddly excited.

He quickly remembered his mother, and used the phone in his room to reach her. Keeping the conversation as short as possible, he told her how he was leaving again.

"John...but you just got back," his mother sighed into the phone with disappointment.

"I know, mum. But...it's who I am, I have to be on the go."

The call was silent for moment. "Listen. If I have to bury my son for real this time, I'm going to go into cardiac arrest. You do what you have to, son. But please...please...just stay safe. Ok?"

Soap breathed softly into the receiver. "Ok, I will try."

"No, you will be safe. Say it."

A small smile pulled at his cheeks. "I will be safe, mum."

"Alright. Good." She replied. He could hear the sorrow in her voice, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. "I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. Good night, John."

"Night, mum."

With that call finished, Soap hopped into the shower and hosed off quickly. He dried off, got dressed into his previous clothes, then slid into bed where he was met with a sleepless night. His mind eventually drifted off, and didn't stir until late morning.

The sun was in his face as dust particles danced around in the glow of the light. His eyes slowly peeled open. He blinked then suddenly jumped from bed as a certain thought hit his mind.

What time is it. What time is it. He found his wristwatch as he cursed. It was already past 1000 hours. He had little money on him, no car, and would rely heavily on buses to get to his destination. Plus he had to eat whatever he could if the opportunity even presented itself. Grabbing all of his things, he rushed out his door and down the stairs where he quickly paid and left to wait at a bus stop.

Soap yet again, found himself glancing at his wristwatch, foot tapping into the pavement. His stomach growled, but he ignored it.

Eventually, the bus arrived and he'd start his long trek towards Dorchester. But, growing hungry, (and irritated at himself for not having grabbed breakfast while at a bed and breakfast) Soap hopped off at the stop at Townbridge, where he took a quick break to grab some brochures of the area and shove a protein bar down his throat. He bought a water and a pomegranate-blueberry drink, and was yet again finding himself standing aimlessly at a bus stop. He had to utter a groan of annoyance as he continued to wait the next hour for the bus to arrive.

Once the bus arrived, he hopped aboard and was willing to completely stake out the entire trip towards Southampton, where'd he, of course, had to transfer buses. Soap was constantly glancing at his watch; it was near impossible to break his eyes off of the watch's surface. It was already nearing 1400. That left him with 7 hours of time to work with. But something in his gut told him he'd be late. Between all of the waiting around and constant bustle, he could just sense the time of departure creeping up on him; the watch was a cruel reminder.

Soap spent the next 3 hours hopping on and off buses, and waiting around for their arrival mindlessly. He was a competent and concise man; it irritated him knowing he had no control over the buses' late 20 minute late arrivals or the speed at which they drove. The buses made their way through Bournemouth and eventually ended in Dorchester. Soap ran off of the bus, nearly knocking a man over who cursed at him through gritted teeth. Soap could only apologize as he began making his way through the small city. My God, did he have to piss. With that in mind, he made a quick pit-stop, grabbed another water bottle and a small snack at a local gas station. He pulled his phone out, and using the number Samson provided, he sent 'Themis' to the contact number. Soap was willing to wait it out until he received some form of feedback, which he quickly got after a 30 second wait.

His phone began to ring as he quickly answered it. "Hello?"

He heard an all too familiar voice. "Soap, we have new communication setup," it was Price. "What's your ETA?"

Soap panted as he jogged in between people. "Fuck. I have no fucking idea." He looked past all of the different faces. "Hopefully right on time, I have very little money on me. I can take a cab out as far as I can afford. From there I'll have to go on foot. Where's the dock?"

"Hmm, we'll send you the coordinates." Price responded as Soap waved for a cab. He quickly jumped into the back seat and told the driver to take him as far southwest as £233.87 could take him. The driver looked around confused, and just began to follow orders.

"Alright, Echo says it's been sent. You should be receiving it momentarily." Price stated with a flat voice as he continued. "Soap, if you aren't hear the ship will leave without you."

Soap nodded with understanding. "I know."

"That means hurry your muppet arse up." With that the call ended. Soap's phone immediately buzzed as he peered down at it. He now had coordinates and a reliable map to go off of.

He felt incredibly rushed and was craving a smoke break, but twiddling his fingers, bouncing his knee up and down, and biting his nails would have to suffice. He ran his hand through his dark hair and uttered a long sigh. The cab driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. Soap met his eyes, quickly causing him to look back at the road.

"Where-where exactly are you trying to go?" The driver inquired.

Soap had just closed his eyes to rest, but they were quickly peeling back open at the sound of the man's voice. "Um, just towards the channel."

"I can't promise I can get you close-"

"That's fine," Soap commented with a short tone. "Drop me off whenever the £200 mark nears. And drive fast." He ordered blatantly and returned to placing his brow in the palm of his bear-of-a hand.

The driver just nodded and returned his concentration to the road. In the matter of 50 minutes, they man informed Soap of the upcoming stop. Soap sat up and reached into his pocket where he quickly gave the cab driver everything he had left and pulled himself out from the backseat. As the driver drove off, Soap glanced at his watch. He was running out of time, and fast. He scratched his nose and bent over to stretch his body out; the muscles that covered his body began to loosen. Bringing himself back up, he took a drink of water and began jogging down the beaten road, and under the canopy of thick trees.

Soap jogged and jogged and jogged. He wasn't going to stop and his stamina knew no bounds. It was nearing 2100 hours; several beads of sweat built up around his brow and neck. The sun was gone, and Soap was left in the near dark, with only an occasional streetlight to brighten the path. Luckily, the man always came prepared, and had a small LED flashlight at his disposal. He doubled checked the coordinates and determined he was getting close; his eyes began checking for any signs of a private side road of some sort.

Finally, he spotted a gravel path that had been blocked off by a gate and a ten foot tall chain-link fence. One lone streetlight lit up the gate. It screamed secrecy. He sighed and jogged up towards it where he began looking for a way through. The damn gate was locked, he had to curse under his breath. Guess he was going to have to climb it. He glanced one last time at his watch; it was 2058 hours.

"Fuck a duck," He grumbled as he began scaling the fence.

Once to the top, he dropped down to the other side and began sprinting with all of the speed he had; gravel and dirt kicked up from his heels as he pushed off of the ground. Eventually, he passed up the treeline and into a clearing. It was dark but the long dock, surrounded by a barracks and a warehouse, was cast with shadows by the line of lights that ran alongside the docks. The water glimmered, and off in the distance, he spotted the cargo ship's many lights. He threw his arms up into the air and placed his hands atop his head.

He was late by two minutes. He dropped his hands and reached for his phone, dialed the number, and waited for someone to answer. Finally, the call was picked up.

"Did you change your mind?" Price's voice was laced in mild amusement.

"No. I'm standing at the docks."

Price chuckled. "Still a muppet."

"Yeah, yeah-can you turn the boat around and get me?"

"I can't, but someone else can," Price replied smoothly. "You better start working on your promptness."

Soap sighed and smiled faintly. "Those fucking buses-"

"Whatever you say, Soap. We're sending a Little Bird your way. The pilot is Shorty, she'll ask for a codename. Just say 'I'm a muppet' to verify that it is indeed you."

Soap sat silently for a moment and shook his head.

"Got that?"

"Aye…"

"Good. Hang tight." With that, Price ended the call.

Soap put up the phone and finally caught his breath. His heart was still racing from all of the rushing and anticipation. After a short wait, he could hear a helicopter's engine and propellers ignitionating off in the distance; the sound echoed off of the trees and building sidings.

He stood patiently as the AH-6J Little Bird reached him and steadily landed with graceful precision. Soap approached and met eyes with a female pilot who stared at him with little amusement. She rolled an imaginary object around in her mouth before nodding in his direction.

"What's the password?" She had dark, warm brown hair, round but pretty features, and a facial expression that yelled professionalism.

Soap blinked in her direction; he could see her raise an eyebrow at him.

"Password? I need to know that you're not a poser."

Soap exhaled heavily. "...I'm a muppet."

"Damn straight," Soap recognized the voice as Price's and met his eyes from the back. He smiled in Soap's direction, and Soap couldn't help but return the gesture. He boarded the chopper and Shorty quickly set off back to the cargo ship.

* * *

I'm trying to move the story along. OCs will be introduced next chapter as well as the first mission.


	5. Briefings and Drug Lords

**Chapter 5 - Briefings and Drug Lords**

Soap followed Price's footsteps as his eyes ran over the nearby surroundings. It was a medium sized merchant vessel, plated with dark grey, TMCP steel. Price was a fast walker, but Soap's stride kept up with his pace. Many new and unfamiliar faces glanced in his direction as he passed, eventually, he recognized Samson's as he approached. His face was lit up by the many lights that encased the ship's deck.

Samson let a small, friendly smirk spread across his face at the sight of Soap. "Good to see you again. Welcome aboard."

Soap nodded at him.

Samson moved his eyes away from Soap and quickly found the surrounding midnight blue, reflective water. "Price will show you where your room is that you can sleep in for the night. We'll keep this particular evening low-stress and underwhelming. Early tomorrow we can start getting you briefed and get you well-informed with everything it is we do." Samson looked back to Soap who watched him closely with blue-grey eyes. "As of now, I'm sure everything seems so...odd. But don't worry, you'll get acclimated swiftly and all of the team members are, for lack of a better term, friendly. So, tonight just take it easy."

Samson gave him a quick smile and gave him a pat on the arm before walking off. The man possessed fatherly mannerisms despite being not much older than Soap. Soap's eyes quickly found Price.

"Well...here we are." Soap stated.

Price crossed his arms. "I'll show you where we are staying. I know Samson said he'll fill you in more tomorrow, but I can give you a quick synopsis when we get somewhere quiet." He rounded on his heels and began making his way across the deck. Soap stuck close as Price made his way under the deck and into the sleep corridors. The hallway was a decent width, but Soap's shoulders made the space feel like it was encompassing him; he had to bring his shoulder back to let people pass. Eventually, Price took a sharp right and through a door. Soap passed up the threshold and was met by Price's stare.

"Here we are. Two beds per room. We'll share this one."

Soap bobbed his head with content as he observed the space. It was a comfortable compartment, both beds were on opposite ends of the room and were kept separated by a navy, blue couch. He could see the sparkling water through the single porthort that was smack dead center on the steel wall. Price took a step forward, decreasing the distance between them.

"First things first, I'm going to tell you where we are heading." Price began. "This ship is taking us to the Adriatic Sea where we will dock on the coast of Croatia. From there, we will take a C-130 to a base the TTF has set up near the Alps. This cargo ship we're on now was provided by one of the divisions in the TTF; they call themselves Team Talon. They deal with transportation, shipments, retrievals...that sort of thing. Then there's Team Phantom, they're...they're still a mystery to me. They handle the more sensitive material. And the division we're apart of is referred to as Team Darkhorse. We're more hands-on and generally end up on the frontlines and in the most line of fire. Security and apprehension. Starting to sound not so bad, eh?"

Soap nodded and brought his hand up to rub the scruff on his chin. "Sure. And do you know what kind of material we'll be dealing with?"

Price crossed his arms. "Samson and I will get into that more tomorrow. But I'll give you an idea of what it is we will be encountering. Team Echo-that's the intelligence division-provided us intel on a recent drug lord threat in Cuba. The man is becoming quite the nuisance and is climbing up the top priority ladder quickly. We have to intercept an alleged shipment that is departing in ten days from the coast of Italy. Sound familiar?"

Soap took a minute to ponder over the comment, but then it hit him. "My first mission in the 22nd Regiment, in the Bering Strait."

Price nodded slowly. "Right." His hand found the greying hair on his face as he narrowed his eyes up at Soap. "Tomorrow will be an enjoyable day, I can promise that. You'll start feeling more...comfortable. Once you're briefed and Samson gives you a quick introduction, you'll immediately be put to work on the deck. I'm sure Talon wouldn't mind some extra hands with inventory. Then you'll get to meet the people we will be working alongside."

"Sounds like a productive day."

Price gestured in agreement. "Get some rest, Soap. You look like you need it." With that, Price removed himself from the room; he appeared as if he wanted to finish one more task before hitting the sack himself.

Soap blinked as his old man disappeared around the corner. Once he was out of sight, Soap dropped his bag on the floor and found a seat on the couch where he stared at the walls and ceiling. The boat rocked steadily with the calm water. His eyes caught movement by the open door and met with a taller man with brown hair and humored eyes.

"So, you're the Scotsman, yeah?" The man said. There was something about his face that just said 'jokester'.

Soap sat up and nodded. "Aye. And you?"

"I'm going to be your favorite Yankee." He replied with a charming smile.

Soap had to raise his eyebrows at him. "Is that so? I didn't know it was possible to have a favorite Yankee."

The man's blue eyes ran over the walls as he rolled an imaginary object in his mouth. "Hmm, contradictory, right? But just trust me on this. I'm an awesome pilot, better than Shorty, don't listen to anything she has to say. She is a drama queen."

"So you're going to be my favorite because you're the better pilot."

The brown haired man leaned his weight against the doorframe. "No, you're just going to like me because I'm a smart-ass."

Soap stared at him for awhile. He was starting to become confused. "What if I don't like smart-asses?"

"Then that just sounds like a personal problem." The man stated flatly before flashing another smile. "Don't mind me, I'm always the first person to talk to people. I like to test the waters to see what kind of person someone is. I think you'll fit in fine, so long as you can take a joke. But hey, I'm getting ahead of myself." He stood to his full height and brought himself into the room to stand before Soap where he put out an open palm for Soap to accept. "I've been cursed with the horrible name of Reginald. Just call me Reggie."

Soap stood and accepted his hand and shook it strongly. "Price calls me Soap. I've been stuck with Soap since selection."

"So, call you Soap?"

"Aye."

Reggie crossed his arms before his chest. "Dropped the soap in the showers?"

"That would be it."

"Hmm...that's cool. You'll probably end up with more nicknames as we go on, but for now, Soap will have to do." Reggie smiled again and began to make his way for the hallways. "Get some rest! Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

With that, Soap followed after him to shut the door behind him and returned to his bed to change into a different set of clothes. After that task was finished, Soap crashed into the bed and opened his journal to flip through the pages. He enjoyed rereading his past thoughts, and he was ready to add in some more. Eventually, Price returned, as he closed the door and met Soap's weary stare.

Price pointed a finger at him. "Up at 0600 hours. Showers. Breakfast. Then your brief. You'll have the joys of getting debriefed by Camilla Bernadette, commander of Echo, and Thorsen Lemann, commander of Darkhorse."

"Sounds reasonable." Soap mumbled as he closed his journal and set it and the pen back into the side pocket of his bag. He sighed and rolled over to face the wall. Once Price settled down, the both of them exchanged a few words and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Soap was stirred by the sound of the alarm on his wristwatch. He turned it off and rolled over to look in Price's direction. But he was already gone. He double-checked the time to see if he had overslept, but it was five minutes to 0600 hours. So he brought himself up and immediately headed for the door after cleaning up a bit. He opened the door, made his way through the threshold and bumped right into a woman who went falling down onto her rump.

"Oh damn. I'm sorry." Soap reached a hand out for her to take but was met with a glare. It was Shorty. He could finally see her face better as she looked into his soul with her deep, whiskey colored eyes.

"Jesus Christ. With that mass that big, you have to be more responsible with your surroundings." She looked at his hand and hesitated before willingly taking it.

Another woman snickered under her breath as Shorty rose. Soap's eyes found the other woman and immediately recognized her from the night before. She was taller, ash-blonde hair, and bore a wide smile as Shorty stood before the both of them. Soap was now seeing why they called her 'Shorty'.

"Your nickname makes sense now." Soap commented.

Shorty looked up at him through her fallen hair. "You're pushing it. And why do they call you 'Soap'?"

"Maybe he smells clean all of the time. Sniff him and find out." Ricochet stated with a smile.

Shorty's eye found Ricochet. "I'm not going to sniff him, that would be weird." Her stare then found Soap's face as her eyes immediately widened. "Oh my God…"

Soap looked around for a moment before peering back down at her; her head only up to his mid chest. There was a moment of silence, as everyone could sense the disbelief pouring from the sienna-skinned woman.

"Your face…"

Soap shifted. "What? The scars?"

"No…" Shorty took a step back and stuck her tongue against the inside of her cheek; she stared at him observantly before speaking. "Your fucking chin...and jawline. It's not natural."

"Haha, what?" Ricochet inquired with confusion laced through her eyes.

Soap didn't know how to react. "My...chin?"

Shorty looked over at Ricochet, and pointed in Soap's direction. "Are you seeing this?"

"I-I don't understand." Ricochet replied while narrowing her eyes at Soap. All she could see was a masculine, squared-off jawline.

"The shape. I don't get it. It's round...but square at the same time? I don't like it."

"You-you don't like my face? That kind of sounds like what you're saying." Soap claimed, feeling somewhat disheartened, but mostly bewildered.

"Is that a bad thing?" Ricochet questioned from her position as Shorty crossed her arms and looked off down the hallway. People waking up attempted to get around them. "We're blocking traffic."

"No, _we're_ not. It's his brute of a body."

"Shorty...you're being kind of rude…"

Soap scratched his head and couldn't resist the urge to take a step backwards and into his room.

Shorty scratched her stomach and shrugged. "I'm hungry. Let's go eat something." She began to walk down the hallway but not before giving Soap once last confounded glance. Ricochet followed her and gave Soap a confused smile and a raise of the shoulders.

"Welcome to Darkhorse!"

Soap watched the two as they made their way down the narrow hall; others following short behind. He waited for their to be a break in traffic before taking a step out, this time making sure not to take someone out with his bulk. As he walked out, he spotted a familiar face, but like Ricochet, he didn't know how he recognized it. The green-eyed man met his eyes and gave him a friendly nod of the head.

"Hey man, how are you feeling." He said with a warm smile.

"Better. Have we met before?" Soap inquired as they walked along.

"Several months ago. I wouldn't say we _met_. More like...were acquainted through your almost fatal injury."

Soap took a moment to think over that. He put some pieces together and ran his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips. "Hmm...wait. You're the American medic that Nikolai mentioned, right?"

He confirmed with a content head bob. "Yep. That was me. The name's Shawn. I'm actually Samson's younger brother. It's promising to see you back to better health and working with us now."

Soap reached out a large hand for Shawn to accept. "Thanks, mate. I owe you."

Shawn shook his hand and shrugged. "You don't owe me anything. It's my job. Just cover my ass when I need it."

With that, everyone headed for the showers, hosed off, and afterwards, made their way towards the kitchen where breakfast was being served. After obtaining food, Soap found Price sitting next to Samson; arms crossed as always. Liking the image of familiarity, Soap joined their sides.

"Morning, Soap." Samson greeted.

He took a seat by Price. "Morning."

Eventually, what Soap didn't know, the rest of Darkhorse joined the table they all sat at, totalling 16 people. Soap's eyes ran over the faces. He recognized Reggie from the night before, then Shawn, Ricochet, and Shorty. The others he did not know, but figured he was about to get acquainted. A man with a deep scar on his cheek, warm-brown hair, and metallic, blue eyes, pulled up a chair by Samson. His eyes hanging low and his face bearing an expression of sleepiness.

Samson leaned into the table to get a better look at Soap. "Soap, this is all of Darkhorse. Now would be a good time to introduce you."

"Alright." Soap stated after setting down his orange juice.

Samson began pointing at the members and making his way around the table. "That's Ivan. Co-pilot to Shorty. We like to call him 'Hot-Shot'." Ivan raised a hand and continued to eat his meal. "Next to him is Mark, Reggie's co-pilot-"

"We call him 'Buzzkill' because he ruins the mood." Reggie chimed in to be met with an unamused stare from Mark. Reggie returned a brilliant smile.

Samson shook his head with a smirk before continuing. "That's Lydia. She's our medic who stays 24/7 at base." She nodded slowly, eyes staying on Soap. "Next to her is Delroy, he handles Darkhorse's inventory and shipments we receive from Talon. If something gets low, we go to him. We call him 'Badger' sometimes, courtesy of Reggie, because he can get snippy."

"Oui," Delroy replied and chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Then James and Trent. They're our radio guys. Next to them is Shorty, whom you've already met, she pilots our helicopters."

"I'm not sure if we're off to a good start." Soap murmured and met her stare.

"Oh?" Samson looked from Soap to Shorty. His eyes immediately flashing her concern.

"He knocked my ass down in the hallway this morning." Shorty commented flatly as everyone's eyes landed onto Soap.

Soap leaned back into his chair. "You failed to mention that it was an accident and that I helped you up."

Shorty sighed. "It was an apparent accident and he helped me up."

"And then you made fun of his face." Ricochet added in.

Everyone had to raise their eyebrows, except Price who maintained his stoic expression. Soap and Shorty's eyes were locked, neither refusing to blink. Everyone fell quiet as Samson lowered his brow and waved off the awkwardness.

"Moving on...right next to her is Ricochet. She's our scout and reconnaissance sniper." She gave a quick, friendly wave. "Then Tatiana is across from Shorty. She's our mechanic. She can fix anything for you."

"Hello, hun." She waved at Soap who nodded in her direction. Russian accent lacing her words.

"Then that's Tobias. Our Danish air-traffic controller."

"Hej," Tobias greeted as he continued to eat his food.

"Then there's the notorious Reggie, he's my brother. Second youngest. Pilots our bigger planes. Watch what you say around him...he's got a mouth, that one." Samson gave him a disapproving look. Reggie could only flash a white, amused grin. "Then that's Shawn, also my brother. Youngest. He's our paramedic. A damn good one at that as well." Shawn gave a nod and a modest smile. "Then this is Trevor. Also my brother. He does fieldwork like what you, Price, Shawn, and myself do."

Without removing his eyes from his tray, Trevor raised a hand to wave at Soap. Soap leaned forward and looked at all of the faces before looking back at Samson. "Seems like a strong team."

Samson nodded. "Indeed. We'll get you briefed here shortly. Our commander, Lemann, he'll be quick about his business. He's not...in the best of health."

"Angry, German guy." Shawn commented from his seat.

"Then Bernadette...she'll take longer."

"She's just crazy." Shawn added in as he took a bite of eggs.

"Crazy is an understatement." Price stated with a hoarse voice.

Soap looked over a Price with a growing smile. "Oh, yeah?"

"She walks around with a horse whip." Trevor stated monotonically.

Soap raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, the ones that jockeys use. She walks around and if she sees you doing something unproductive, you get a well-placed whip to the ass or hand." Shawn said with a low voice.

Reggie leaned forward with annoyance. "Really? She always taps the tip of my penis with it."

Shawn looked over at him swiftly. "Taps or whips?"

"Tapping implies sex," Tatiana claimed nonchalantly. Shorty shook her head as Reggie smiled.

"Taps it gently." Reggie replied.

Tatiana chuckled at him. "You're adorable. But in a dirty, inappropriate way."

"Reggie makes smart-ass, dirty humor adorable, apparently." Trevor spoke through his food.

Shorty's eyes landed on him. "You sound surprised."

Trevor shrugged and looked up after taking a bite of a biscuit. He pointed his fork at her. "Not surprised. Just an odd mixture of astonishment and disgust."

Shawn nodded in approval. "That sounds just like Reggie. Astonishing and disgusting at the same time."

Reggie just laughed and took a drink of orange juice. Soap looked over the faces as Price's attention was on his plate. He could sense that the old man was already used to the environment. It actually brought back some memories from the 22nd Regiment in between missions. Gaz was always a smart-ass making crude remarks, and Mac was one for quick-wit and sharp replies. Although everyone may had been coming off a bit strong, Soap liked it, and he could tell Price was more at ease. That alone was enough to have a sense of relief blow over him.

Suddenly, Soap felt like he was being stared at, so he looked up and found Lydia's brown eyes. Once he realized her stare, she smiled at him. Soap sat with a blank expression. He didn't understand the gesture and just went back to eating.

Once everyone had finished, Soap followed Price and Samson up to the deck to meet Camilla Bernadette and Thorsten Lemann. After hearing people's comments, Soap didn't know what to expect. He had mixed feelings. He was ready to get a move-on, but he also wasn't looking forward to being potentially whipped. After a short walk down the halls and up the stairs, Soap found himself standing on the lower level deck, metal cargo crates towering over him. Price gestured for him to pick up the pace, and he did just that by nearing their backsides.

After passing up towers of blue and red crates, they found themselves in a clearing. His eyes landed on a man and woman standing in the center. The woman was short and scrolled through the screen on her tablet with irritation. The man next to her only made her look smaller, despite the fact he was using a cane to stand. As the three of them approached, the man attempted to stand up straighter as the woman's sharp eye shot up; an eyepatch kept hidden what was remaining of her left eye. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a thin ponytail and she bore one of the most serious expressions Soap had ever seen. His eyes found a horse whip tucked under her arm. Price's eyes slowly found Soap before moving back to the commanders that they now stood in front of.

Everything was still momentarily as Camilla Bernadette browsed through the tablet. Thorsten Lemann was pale and his eyes were sunken in. He definitely looked ill, but he still was a stern looking man.

The Darkhorse commander nodded in their direction. "Gentleman."

"Sir, John MacTavish is ready to be briefed." Samson replied smoothly.

"Ja-let us begin then." He shifted his weight on his cane and motioned for Camilla to hurry up. "Bernadette. Weiterhin, bitte."

Camilla pursed her lips and kept her eye on the screen. "Patience. I'm retrieving his documentation."

Lemann nodded with irritation as he stared off into the distance.

"Finally. Here it is," she raised her head and took a step forward, closing in her distance between Soap. "MacTavish, I'm going to go through some basic information on you. Read them out loud. If anything is incorrect, speak up. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She blinked at him, looked him up and down, before returning her eye to his face. "Good. So," her fingered slid across the surface. "Name: John MacTavish. Sex: Male. Height: 194 cm. Weight: 104 kg. You're a...hulking man, aren't you?" She stared at him, adjusted her horse switch, and continued. "Date of birth: 11/08/1986. Eyes: Blue. Hair: Brown. Origin: Scotland - UK. Former S.A.S. and former captain to Task Force 141. Hmm…"

She suddenly paused and narrowed her eye at the screen. "Task Force 141 has an...odd past." She sniffed and continued after growing disinterested. "Good. We like that. Looks like you possess a lot of valuable assets, I can see why Mr. Dresden here wanted you on board." Samson nodded in her direction. Camilla made some clicking sounds with her tongue as she pondered over the information. "Also looks like you've had some bad run-ins with injuries."

"Aye."

"Hmm, three different accounted injuries. One from a car chase, the other from getting stabbed in the chest, and the other from...falling out of a four story building." She looked up at him. "You don't die, do you? You're perfect for Darkhorse." She took a step forward as he watched her closely. Rubbing her chin she observed his general appearance. "The look in your eyes though. They don't match your appearance."

He lowered his brow and to stare at her through dark lashes. "I'm sorry?"

"How many men have you killed?"

He straightened his back and let air into his lungs. "Couldn't say. War comes with a lot of death."

"That it does. But the look in your eyes-"

"Christ, Camilla. Let's hurry this Schiss up." Lemann complained as he leaned his weight into his cane. "We've got a drug lord to deal vith."

She raised her hand in the air but kept her eye on Soap. "Shush, Lemann. When briefing a soldier, you do more than just look at their experience, but who they are as well. You should know that better than anyone." She glanced at him quickly before returning her stare to Soap. "MacTavish, you seem...to have a soft side. You're very talented at what you do, but you have a soft spot. I can see it in your eyes." Her eye found Price. "Price, is this true?"

Price straightened his posture and uncrossed his arms to put his hands in his pockets. His eyes ran up the back of Soap's head. He uttered a quick grunt. "He's loyal. He'd do anything for a friend. Does that make him weak? Or a bad soldier?"

She stared at him momentarily before looking back to Soap, where she gave him a wide, interested smile. "No, not at all. I just like the look he has. Do you get attached to people fast?"

Soap's eyes remained on her face; her one visible eye glimmering with a different emotion than from before. He thought over the question, and wasn't in the mood to be quizzed, but was willing to offer an honest answer. "One might say that."

"Mm hmm, good." She smacked his chest with her whip, but it was a quick tap. "Don't lose that, boy. It'll keep you human, and we like our soldiers to stay true to their cause and ambitions." She flashed him another intrigued smile. "As a French proverb goes: 'Bon sang ne peut mentir'. Good blood will always show itself. And you have it written all over your face."

He stared down at her, not knowing how to reply, and was met with another whip tap and a wink before she rounded on her heels and waved her whip through the air. "I am done. Now get to the drug lord, shit."

Thorsten sighed and motioned for the men to step closer. Camilla joined his side and kept a watchful eye on Soap.

"Gentlemen. As you know by now, ve've been having a recent Cuban drug lord...problem," He heaved a thick cough. "Arsenio Vasquez. A real piece of work. Phantom was able to assassinate his father. Now Arsenio and his two brothers are fighting for the fame and power-" He hacked. "Which is vhat we wanted. By planting that seed of corruption in the midst of their family business, they've become distracted. But, according to Echo, Arsenio's youngest brother, Esteban, has miraculously disappeared." Lemann was now struggling to catch his breath. "Here, take this, Price." He brought his hand out and opened his palm revealing a USB. "Review everything over vith your team. I, unfortunately, need to take a seat. Guten Tag, meine Herren."

Price took the small device from the man's hands as everyone's eyes watched him as he pulled himself up, nodded in their direction and motioned for some of his men to come over to help him with his balance. Samson had to shake his head; it irked him seeing his once tall and proud commander, now limping around and panting heavily in attempts to catch his breath.

Camilla's eyes landed on Samson and Price. "Looks like you all will have to fill in the rest of your team. Good luck. I'm getting picked up as soon as we reach Croatia. Find me if you have questions." She then turned and walked away swiftly; her high heels tapping against the deck's surface.

Samson and Price faced each other, as Soap turned his head to peer over at him.

Samson's green eyes found Soap. "I have to apologize. That was a really odd brief. They usually go better than that. This Arsenio stuff is really putting quite the burden on everyone's shoulders. Then, you have Lemann dying from laryngeal cancer. I'm not going to lie, I'm stoked you two accepted the job offer. We were really starting to hit a rough patch."

"Everything happens all at once." Soap commented as Price nodded his head.

"Let's just hope good fortunate came along with us. Bad luck has a tendency to lurk around every corner when we're around." Price stated flatly as his eyes ran over the horizon.

Samson began to stroll off. "Here, let's get Darkhorse together. They should all be together in the underbellies doing inventory."

As Samson walked away, Price and Soap followed after. The three of them were able to quickly gather up the Darkhorse members and find a room to allow them some privacy. Price and Samson set up the projectile and the computer while the team members filed in. Soap stared blankly at the white light on the wall the projector casted. Lydia found a seat by Soap while Shawn and Reggie grabbed a spot across from him.

The brief was finally set up as Price and Samson waited for everyone get comfortable and for their eyes to fall onto them. Once the room fell quiet and all eyes were on them, Samson pulled his hands from his pockets and started up the slides.

"So, I'm just going to cut to the chase. It's been an awkward month. Lots of changes, lots of turmoils. Honestly, I'm not in the mood to get down to the nitty-gritties, which is why Price and I are going to give you this brief as quickly as possible." Samson's voice was different than usual, and he knew everyone watched him with curious eyes. He motioned for Price to continue.

Price's eyes looked profound and stern in the light of the projector. "We're giving you all a quick breakdown, then on the night before we depart, we'll recap." Price changed the slide, it was a family tree of the Vasquez family. "By now, you all should know about Team Phantom's success in assassinating Roberto Vasquez. He was the big wig; a nasty and corrupt wanker. With him out of the way, that leaves his three sons. Fernando, Arsenio, and Esteban. The three of them have been struggling with the balance of power and wealth, and well, neither of them are too thrilled about it. Echo has reported that Esteban is missing. Most likely dead and in a million pieces. But that's what we want: for the Vasquez family to grow distracted and attack each other while we narrow in on their supplies, sellers, and shipments."

Everyone stared at the screen with wide, observant eyes. For once, Reggie wasn't bearing a wide smile. "Which leads me into my next point," Price changed the slides to reveal a map of the Mediterranean. Samson immediately followed through by pointing a red dot onto a spot off the western coast of Latina, Italy. "Right there. That's where a new shipment is departing from. One of the Vazquez's sellers. Departs in ten days. And we're going to make sure it doesn't reach its destination."

Price looked to Samson, which Samson immediately understood. "Right," he began with his usual smooth voice. "According to intel, the shipment is carrying a pretty hefty load of cocaine and illegal arms. Our goal is to board the vessel, kill everyone on deck, and prepare it for Talon to come in to retrieve it. Successfully stopping the shipment means a large lump sum in our pockets. That also entails newer weapons, better gear, some...fancy accessories for your Iroquois, Shorty-"

"Yes…" She said under her breath with excitement.

Samson's eyes rolled over the many faces that stared at him. He pointed his finger at the screen but keep his eyes on them. "This is a big one. Arsenio and his brother will be livid. And we like playing that game. Again, we'll get into more details the night before we depart, but for now, this should fill you all in with the necessary information. Any questions?"

Immediately, a hand went up. Samson pointed to Ricochet. "Go ahead, Rico."

"Are the sellers Cuban, or are they actually from Italy?"

Price nodded. "They're Italian. The Vasquez family has had several buyers and sellers pop up throughout Europe. Maybe only five total, but the business is becoming more productive."

"Are we going to eventually converge on the sellers' locations?" Ricochet questioned as her eyes ran over the pictures on the slide.

"Eventually, yes." Price answered.

"We're testing the waters. We need to get a little sample of what exactly it is we're dealing with. If the shipment is loaded with the goods, then we know it's becoming more serious." Samson added.

Shawn's hand went up. Samson gestured for him to talk. "What if it's the wrong vessel? Like we board and end up killing several innocent sailors."

"Valid point," Samson stated. "That would be all on Echo. But this is an incredibly sensitive matter. The American government _almost_ got involved. They still could. And if we screw this one up, consider us dead. However," he raised a finger, "that's incompetence. Something we don't tolerate. Everyone is at stake and/or at fault if shit hits the fan. Meaning we're _extra_ careful with this. We always are, but like I mentioned before, this one is huge."

"Alright," Shawn leaned back against his chair. "Will the shipment be obvious, or…?"

"Or disguised?"

"Yeah."

Samson placed his chin in his hand. "Very disguised. These kind of shipments are going to be covered in decoys. We will probably end up prying open several boxes of something irrelevant before we actually find what we need."

"Like boxes full of pasta." Reggie chimed in. Everyone looked at him. "...Come on guys, it's fucking Italy. What _else_ would they use as a decoy?"

"...Pizza sauce?" Shorty asked softly.

"Or Italian sausages." Reggie said in return.

Shawn looked into their faces. "Do they really send out huge vessels full of raw pasta?"

Reggie shrugged. "It's pretty much Italy's only export."

"That and apparently cocaine," Ricochet murmured.

Shawn laughed as Samson revealed a small smile on his tired face.

"Those are all very possible scenarios. As of now, though, we don't know. So, any other concerns that you all can think of?" Samson asked with a sweet voice. Everyone could only stare with bright eyes. "Alright then, you're all dismissed."

With that everyone stood to return to their daily duties for the day. Before Soap could leave the room with everyone else, Price stopped him.

"One moment, Soap."

Soap stopped in his tracks to turn and face his old man.

"Follow the rest of Darkhorse. They can show you where the supplies and inventory are being kept. They could use your help. There's only eight Talon members on the ship at the moment."

"So just lend an extra hand?" Soap asked.

Price nodded in confirmation. "Right. Dumb labor. Heavy lifting. Counting and checking the stock. Tedious bullocks. But it'd also be a good way for you to get to know the people you're going to be working alongside. The brothers are ex-Rangers. So, start feeling comfortable knowing you're around a crowd you share a lot of similarities with."

"Sounds good, Price." Soap said as he turned to leave and catch up with the rest of the group.

Below the deck where the extra shipments were being kept, members of Darkhorse performed different tasks. Soap followed Shawn as he got him familiar with the area and how they operate.

"So, pretty much, we're just double-checking all of this...shit. It's annoying, but the conversation gets fun down here." As Shawn spoke, he noticed a bunch of crumbs falling onto his head. Soap watched as the small bits landed into his hair. Immediately, Shawn felt the sensation and brushed his hair with his hand. "The hell was that?" His eyes looked up only to see Shorty and Reggie eating chips while sitting on top of the boxes.

Shawn side-stepped to avoid the incoming crumbs. "Do you two mind...not eating above my head?"

"It's ok, you moved to the side so now it's not over your head." Reggie claimed nonchalantly.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Mind helping out around here?"

Reggie looked to Shorty who was staring down at Shawn from her position. "We were just having quick snack break. Here, catch this." Shorty then threw box over the side for him to catch.

Shawn flinched at the movement but managed to grip the box as it came crashing down towards him. It was lighter than he expected. "What is this a box of?"

Her eyes were locked onto his face. "Chips."

"...Alright…" Shawn then looked to Soap before slowly opening the box up to find exactly what Shorty had said it was: chips. "So...this is a box of chips. Got it. Soap, help a man out and grab that clipboard from on top of the box over there by the door."

Soap peered over his shoulder towards where Shawn had gestured with his head. His eyes landed on the clipboard that sat atop a large cardboard box. He quickly retrieved it and looked over the inventory list.

"Box of chips, right?" Soap asked with his eyes still on the pages.

Shawn looked over at him. "Yeah."

Soap couldn't find anything on the first page, so he flipped it onto the next page where he promptly checked off the box of chips. "Says there's three more."

"They're probably up there eating from them…"

Suddenly, Soap felt something brush against his leg. He looked down and was met with the brown-eyed stare of a long-haired German Shepherd. He flinched, nearly dropped the clipboard, and took a step away. The sight of the dog terrified him and brought back unforgettable memories. Shawn noticed Soap's horrified mannerisms and was rather surprised by the reaction. The lovely, warm-brown and black dog looked up at him with smart eyes and cocked her head at him. She opened her mouth up into a happy smile as her tongue came out with a series of pants.

Then Ricochet came up. "Sorry she startled you! She means well." She joined the dog's side and scratched the top her head.

Soap relaxed a little bit as the beautiful canine looked around with content in her eyes as her owner scratched behind her ears. "What's her name?"

Ricochet looked up and met Soap's nervous eyes. "Her name is Gretel. She's great. Super loving and loyal. Just gotta love dogs."

"Eh…" Soap looked down at Gretel as she started sniffing him again.

Ricochet noticed the anxious look in his face. "Not the biggest fan of dogs?"

Soap moved his stare away from Gretel and found Ricochet's aqua eyes staring at him. "Not entirely."

"A few bad run-ins?"

Soap had to snicker at that. "Nothing but."

"That's understandable. Attack dogs are bred to scare the living shit out of someone. I'll take it you've had your fair share of those in your past?" Ricochet watched his face as Gretel continued to sniff up his leg and wag her tail.

"Let's just say I've had to snap the necks of a multitude of attack dogs." His eyes found Gretel again as she became relaxed and laid down near his foot.

"Well, she really likes you. So that makes you a good person in my book. Dogs can always sense kind souls." She said with a faint smile.

Feeling compelled, he was willing to break through his wall of fear and reach his hand down to brush against her head. She was fluffy and soft; she wagged her tail and looked up at him with honey, brown eyes. Guess she wasn't so bad. Soap looked back to Ricochet, and when he met her eyes a brilliant smile grew across her face.

* * *

Finally! Next chapter will be the shipment interception mission. Also, if anyone was wondering how I know so much about Soap's general body build, it's because I took the time to find the measurements of an assault rifle he was holding, and then compared it to the rest of his body. I used the MW3 models of him and Price because those are the most accurate representations of them. In game models are all the same because developers use a default model for all the characters and then just change out certain features. That's why when we see in-game players standing next to each other, they're all the same height. But anyways, so I took the standard length of a modern M16 and it came out to be 39.5 inches. So roughly 40 inches. I then measured it alongside Soap. Well, he came out to be about 77 inches, which is 6'4''. I honestly was surprised. I thought he was like 6'1'', 6'2'' max. So that's why when describing Soap, I make him sound like a giant, probably because he is. He's a gentle giant...for the most part.


	6. Interception

**Chapter 6 - Interception**

Darkhorse arrived near Zadar, Croatia at their private dock and airport. It remained secluded and behind cover of the surrounding terrain. Having a full 48 hours before having to crash the party in Latina, Italy, the team members had some time to prepare for their next attack. Soap had already begun to grow slightly more comfortable around Darkhorse; more willing to participate in conversation, the large man was finding a seemingly suitable reputation amongst other Darkhorse members. Having Price around was always calming, despite the old man sending terrified shivers down the spines of others. Then Samson had a relaxing air to him that was welcoming and warming; Soap wasn't afraid to ask him any questions if he had any concerns or inquiries. The rest of Darkhorse was entertaining and enjoyable to be around, but they took their work seriously and knew when it was the right time and place for a well-placed joke.

After arriving in Zadar, with the foaming ocean crashing to the west, Darkhorse and Talon prepared the C-130 for takeoff. Everyone lent a hand in loading up the large, military grade plane with the necessary supplies and equipment while a few others prepared Shorty's Little Bird for transportation. It was tedious work, but with the help of several dozen people, the task was finished swiftly and Darkhorse was prepared for their transit towards the hills to the east, near Gracac. It was a smaller, village-like setting, located in a valley near the Alps. Gracac was covered in green landscape, and on occasion, an eerie mist.

Reggie and Mark sat cozily in the cockpit while a few Talon members assigned to man the large plane and the remaining Darkhorse team filed inside with the image of Shorty's Little Bird before their faces. Reggie looked towards Mark with his patented, smart-ass grin, immediately causing the angry looking Canadian to tense up.

"...Why are you smiling?" Mark asked with narrowed brown eyes.

Reggie leaned back in his seat as he adjusted his headset. "I'm a happy man, Marky-Mark."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"I don't like it."

Reggie pulled himself back and flipped a few switches as Mark's bored stare fell onto the distant treeline. "You know who you remind me of?" He pointed in Mark's direction.

Mark sighed. "Who?"

"Mutha-fucking Ben Stein. You know who that is?"

Mark blinked. "No."

"Of course you don't. Google it." Reggie spun in his seat then went back to work as he turned on his headset. He received the 'OK' from one of the Talon members on the runway. "Preparing for take-off in 60."

The plane's engines and turbines increased in volume as the interior rumbled. "Oh yes...that's right. Do you all feel that?"

Everyone in the back looked towards the cockpit as Reggie's voice sounded from the speakers. Trevor rolled his eyes as a smirk grew across Shawn's face.

"This should be entertaining." Trevor mumbled.

Shorty looked at him. "Because both your sadistic brother and Buzzkill have to spend the next 25 minutes in a small cockpit together?"

Trevor exhaled heavily as his eyelids fell shut. "Yep."

Shawn had to laugh. "Can you hear him giggling already?"

Everyone listened in trying to let their ears catch the sound of Reggie's soft chuckles. Trevor nodded. "There it is. The indicator that Buzzkill is moments away from murdering everyone on the plane."

Samson smiled from his position next to Price. Soap leaned forward to look over at Trevor. "Reggie's the instigator of the team?" His voice sounded deeply, laced in his Scottish dialect.

"Instigator is an understatement…" Trevor murmured, his eyes flashing off in the distance.

"We got lucky with Reggie on the ship. He was behaving oddly well," Ricochet commented, causing Tatiana to snicker.

"Probably because Samson had a talk with him." Shawn said with mild amusement. "Just wait though. When Reggie flies a plane, that's when his true colors come out."

"Fasten your seatbelts, because Reggie is piloting." Mark's monotone voice sounded.

"And Buzzkill is co-piloting with his bad attitude." Reggie commented as the team could pick up on an irritated mumble from Mark. "What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of how amazing this plane is."

Suddenly, the C-130 began to inch forward and gain speed and momentum as it began to barrel its way down the runway. As the massive plane continued down the stretch, it reached its optimal takeoff standards. Lifting up from the earth with immense power and speed, everyone could feel their center of gravity fly to the sides of their bodies as blood rushed to their heads.

Once the plane had reached an altitude of nearly 20,000 feet, Reggie's voice buzzed from the radio. "Now if you look out to the right of your near nonexistent windows, you will see a herd of moose Buzzkill has seemed to misplace." There was a moment of silence as the plane hummed with a majestic force. "Sorry, Mark. I don't think anyone caught that.

"There's no moose in Croatia."

"'Misplaced' is the keyword." Reggie clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth before continuing. "Know what we need? Some Led Zeppelin." After a few brief moments, "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" began to play loudly over the radio. The loadmaster shook his head as he double-checked the inventory. "Fuck yeah."

"Why are you never serious?" Buzzkill inquired with irritation.

Everyone watched as Reggie turned in his seat. "Hate the game, not the player."

"That doesn't even make sense."

Reggie blinked at him before returning his attention to the sky before him. "Sure it does."

"No, it doesn't. What is this game I am hating?" Buzzkill's voice was beginning to rise.

"The game of life, my little, enraged, Canadian friend." Reggie replied before singing along with Led Zeppelin over the radio.

"He's lucky I like this song, otherwise I'd have to go up there to pop him in the back of his muppet head." Price said with his usually coarse voice as Soap flashed a quick smile from his spot next to his old captain.

After 10 minutes of Led Zeppelin, small talk from the back of the plane, and Reggie's oddly talented singing, his voice broke over the radio again. "Reaching the halfway point. Time to switch up the music." Suddenly, "Afternoon Delight" began to play. "There we go. Can you just feel the sexual tension coursing through your battle-hardened veins? Heh, hardened veins. No pun intended."

As the song continued to play, Reggie had to yet again put in his two-cents. "Oh, this is about having sexual intercourse in the middle of the day. Generally around afternoon. If anyone was curious."

"For the love of-" Trevor complained while pulling himself forward.

"Don't. He feeds off of everyone's irritation and uncomfortableness." Samson chimed in. A few people around him bore wide smiles.

Shawn had to chuckle. "He feeds off of himself. And then Buzzkill is up there-"

"In fairness, if it weren't for Reggie, we'd all leave the plane depressed." Ricochet stated with a faint smile.

Another 10 seemingly awkward minutes had passed, Mark announced their impending arrival to Gracac. The passengers prepared their belts and safety vests as the plane began to start its steady decline. The music had fallen silent, as the only noise that filled the compartment was the rumbling of the engine and turbines, and the occasional comment from Reggie.

After the standard landing procedure had taken place and the C-130 had come to a safe stop, Darkhorse removed themselves from the interior to begin the unloading process. Before Soap assisted with the task, his eyes scanned the area. It was a scenic view in an open clearing. In some ways, it reminded him of Scotland, with the highland-like terrain, the rolling green hills, and a light fog that crawled across the land during the early mornings. He felt oddly at peace as his light eyes scrolled across the tops of the barracks and the runway pavement. It was like Credenhill, only more welcoming and fresh. The scent of refreshing breeze blew between the barracks.

He felt a presence approach behind him; it was Price. "What do you think?"

Soap took a brief moment to look everything over before turning his full attention towards his old man. "You know, I'm content."

Price nodded, looking at ease. "Good."

The old man always kept things short, but sweet. Soap knew that short conversation had gone a long way, and he knew Price was glad to hear that his Scottish friend was finally finding some form of peace once again.

After their brief moment, they returned to help the others. Once all of the major tasks were finished, Samson grabbed Soap's attention.

"Hey, Soap. Come here real quick." He gestured for the bear-of-a-man.

Soap turned his head, found Samson standing in the open on the runway with Price, and began making his way in their direction. Once he stood before them, his eyes observed their faces before finding the metal roofings of the nearby barracks.

"I'm going to show you and Price around. It's a new place for both of you, and we all want you two to feel welcomed and at ease. So let's start with the barracks we will all be sleeping in." Samson rounded on his heels and began leading the two along the pavement and in the direction of the many buildings ranging in size. Once reaching the front of the building, he paused. "Pretty self-explanatory. Two people per room, like on the boat. If it gets crowded, the rooms can sleep three, but it'll be two for now. We'll worry about picking rooms out later. Next to this is the mess hall," Samson walked several yards before gesturing to his right before a building with a similar appearance. "Kitchen and cafeteria."

He turned again and returned to walking down the dirt path. "This smaller building, to the left here, is what houses the showers. Since we clearly have both male and female soldiers, we have scheduled times for the showers. There's a time chart in the sleep corridors, by the front door. Times set up for the mornings. We don't mind if people take showers in the evenings-I personally don't like going to bed dirty-but we generally follow those rules to conserve water." He exhaled a peaceful breath before returning to his tour guide duties. "Having fun yet?"

"Peachy time." Price commented flatly. The two of them spotted the edge of Samson's smirk.

Samson raised a finger and pointed. "This warehouse right here is the armory. It's obviously locked up right now. All of the barracks are, but this one has several special keys. Only two people have those keys, which will be you and I, Price. Oh, speaking of keys, everyone gets a key which can access all of the buildings, except the armory, of course." As they approached the armory to their right, Samson gestured. "Here it is. As you can see, it has a series of locks, is plated with 10 inch concrete and supports, and well...is an armory. We have plenty of supplies for this upcoming shipment interception, but after that, we should get another load. Which Badger will deal with. Hmm…" Samson rubbed his chin as he turned around with wondering eyes. "Forgot to point out the hangar. It's right behind the showers, near the runway. Tatiana, Shorty, and Reggie will be hanging out in their most of the time. Then you can see the radio tower a little bit further down the stretch, where James and Trent pretty much live 24/7."

His green eyes looked at the rooftops as he nodded, before continuing his journey down the pathway. "Near the end here is where you can run courses-indoors and outdoors-and also workout. It's obviously one of the bigger barracks. It'll make for a nice getaway when you need it. I'm sure the two of you are ready to start being active again. Here," Samson turned to face them as he held out two sets of keys. "Price, you grab the keys to your left." Soap and Price grabbed their keys as Samson bobbed his head with content and placed his hands in his pockets. "So, any questions?"

Price stared into Samson's face while Soap's eyes ran over the key he received. Neither of them could think of any questions concerning the base, so they simply shook their heads.

"I'll be on my way then. Have a look around, and enjoy yourselves. Lunch will be served in one hour, so make yourselves at home. Also, before it slips my mind, this is a permanent base. It stays here. When Echo catches wind of some useful intelligence, and we have to depart to a different location, Talon will set up temporary camps for us to stay in. We generally stay at those for only a few days, before returning back to here or wherever we're needed. I'm sure you two are well-acquainted to the idea of being nomadic." He paused to sigh. "These headquarters was set up by TTF, specifically designated for Darkhorse, but it can house more people than just our standard 16 because sometimes we end up with several Talon or Echo members."

Soap suddenly was hit with a realization. "What about Phantom? The team that just assassinated Roberto Vasquez. I haven't heard them mentioned a lot."

Price peered over at Soap from the corner of his vision as Samson sat in a brief silence to ponder over his answer.

"Well, Phantom...How do I describe Phantom…" Samson narrowed his eyes. "I'll just explain what it is they do. We don't see or hear from Phantom a lot. Picture ex-CIA agents and ex-Green Berets. Odd set of men, but there's only six of them. They operate with the utmost secrecy, and they do a damn good job at handling the more sensitive and highest priority material. Darkhorse deals with several...stealth missions from time-to-time, but not like Phantom. Echo actually doesn't keep a very close tab on them, in fear of getting compromised or sold-out somehow. Think of Black Operations material. That's what they are. I'm still constantly learning more about them."

"Sounds like they fit their name." Soap commented.

Samson replied with a nod. "Indeed they do," he moved his hands out from his pockets and let them fall to his sides. "Well, I'm going to return to the runway to assist with the Little Bird. You two are free to roam and do whatever. Tomorrow we'll gear-up and depart for Italy."

With that, Samson left their presence, leaving Soap and Price to explore the area together and get familiarized with the camp they'd be calling home.

When evening time came, the group ate dinner, then went about doing their own things. Some members worked out and ran courses, others had found a quiet retreat within the sleep corridors or hangar. As the night grew old and the early hours of the morning creeped up, the group arose from a surprisingly sleep filled night and awoke feeling recharged and ready for department.

Finalizing everything, the field-working crew of Darkhorse boarded Shorty's beloved Iroquois, with Ivan co-piloting, and prepared for lift off. Tobias gave them a thumbs up, with the rising sun in the background casting yellows hues onto the environment around them. Radio tower finished setting up signals, and with that, the team headed west towards the Adriatic Sea.

Price looked towards Samson who nodded in his direction. Samson's green eyes found the six soldiers that sat around him.

"So, here's our next stop. We're refueling in Sicily, and from there we're intercepting the shipment that departs from the Latina docks at 2000 hours. It'll be dark. Let's hope the Mediterranean doesn't have a storm in store for us. Remember what we discussed, Shawn, Trevor, Soap, and I are on the deck. We're clearing the ship then looking for the goods." Samson peered over at Price through a lowered brow. "Price, you and Ricochet will head towards the engine room to shut everything off. Gain access to the control room, and access their hard drives. Simple enough, right?"

Everyone agreed with a nod or still silence. The ship was going to be allegedly unarmed, but Darkhorse knew better. That's why they all were going in equipped with TAR-21's, with holographic sights and suppressors, in addition to having several flash bangs and M9s at their disposal. Each person served a single, but important, purpose and each task would be handled with promptness and competence. Ricochet was tall, but small in comparison to the men around her, but she could hold her own. She was an expert at recon and had a knack for computer infiltration. With Price assigned to her backside, she was far from worried.

As several hours passed, the chopper was ready for a refuel break. Everyone took a few minutes to stretch and get prepared for the impending conflict. The sun was out, but it was dying within the horizon. Trevor, Price, and Soap stood off to themselves to have a smoke break, while the others stood patiently with determined expressions. Suddenly, the Iroquois started back up as the propellers began to rotate and spin with immense velocity and force; the gusts whipped at their gear and hair.

"Come on, comrades. We got a drug lord's shipment to take out!" Ivan shouted over the growing roar of the chopper blades. Everyone jogged for the Iroquois as Soap and Price flicked their cigars off to the side.

Once inside, everyone stared into each other's faces with a growing excitement. Shawn's knee bounced up and down while Soap's perfectionism kicked it; he's hands ran over his gear, verifying everything was exactly where he wanted it to be. Each member entered their own thoughts and said very little as the clock continued to tick. Price glanced at his wristwatch, concentration burning in his sky-blue eyes. Everyone knew they were getting closer as their hearts pounded behind their chests.

The sun was now gone, and the Mediterranean splashed under them as the helicopter passed from overhead.

"ETA, 10 minutes." Shorty's voice stated over the radio. She was a different person up in the air. Price ordered everyone to get their radios on and live. Safeties were clicked off, magazines were equipped, and masks with fog-resistant goggles were placed atop their heads. The anticipation was rising. Soap and Price were growing excited as the hairs on their arms rose. It had been far too long, and even longer for Soap, the young man was glad to be back on the playing field. "Three minutes."

Price's eyes were locked onto the ocean below them and the dark blue horizon off in the distance. Then the ship came into view. It was a smaller cargo ship lit up by a four spotlights which lit up the deck.

"Target in sight. Prepare for the signal." Ivan said into their ears.

With the boat now completely visible, everyone lowered their masks over their faces as Price and Samson stood to toss the ropes over the side. Before doing so, Samson peered over his shoulder.

"Remember, Echo said that there's a crew of only ten men on this ship. Be sure to keep your numbers in check." Samson's voice was muffled by the mask that now shielded his face and gave him an inhumane appearance. Then a green light lit up within the interior, causing everyone to stand. Samson and Price looked to each other and gave a nod. With that, they threw the two ropes over and leapt at them, sliding down and onto the wet bow of the boat. Samson and Price crept forward in unison allowing the rest of Darkhorse to join them. They landed with a loud but coordinated 'thump' and followed through by looking down their sights.

One of the crew had ran up the deck to see what the commotion was about but was met with a silent bullet to the head. His body fell over ungracefully as a trail of blood was left in his tracks from his now lifeless corpse sliding down the stairs.

"One." Price confirmed. His voice always sounded so rigid and powerful over the radio.

Soap couldn't resist flashing an invisible smile behind his mask. "You had to be the first, didn't you, old man?"

"Just making a point." Price replied. He gestured for Ricochet to join his side. "Ricochet, follow me to the cockpit on the opposite end."

"Copy that." She joined his side as Samson motioned for the remaining men to take his lead.

Shawn watched as Price and Ricochet disappeared down the stairs hugging the outer rim of the deck, making a point to step over the dead body. Ricochet double-tapped the crew member as she passed

"Take aim, Trevor." Samson ordered as they came up to a door. "Soap, watch the flanks."

Trevor stood adjacent to Samson as they slowly pulled open the door, allowing the barrel of his gun to ease in first. Samson followed in after with Shawn and Soap shortly behind; checking their tails before entering the hallway, Soap scanned their backsides quickly before returning his attention before him. Trevor led them down a set of narrow stairs, taking a man out before him that was unfortunate enough to round the corner at the wrong time.

"Two." Trevor stated flatly as he placed his back against the wall, before zipping around the corner with his gun raised; Samson making a point to double-tap the freshly fallen man. Trevor's eyes caught sight of man leaving his cabin and shot him dead. "Three."

"They must be switching shifts." Shawn commented over the radio.

"Perfect. Soap, take aim and watch our 3 o'clocks." Samson ordered, allowing for Soap's mass to slip past him with a surprising amount of agility for a man his size. Samson gestured for Shawn to follow after Soap and began to watch their flanks.

The four of them eased their way steadily down the hallway, checking each room they passed.

"Clear left." Trevor confirmed

"Clear right." Soap said promptly.

Then they all heard a man's voice sound from one of the cabins from down the hall. "Demario, vieni qui. Dove si va?" He then poked his head out and froze in fear. Blood splattered on the back of the door as a bullet pierced through his forehead.

"Four." Soap said with his deep voice.

"Che cazzo!" They heard a shout as a door to the right slammed.

Their heads perked up. "Hold." Trevor raised his left fist. "Checking the 9 o'clock." Soap followed through by placing his back against the wall that the now shut door shared. Trevor mimicked the motion by placing himself parallel to Soap.

"Clear the room to the left. We'll handle the other one later." Samson ordered. Trevor gave a nod before quickly spinning into the room and checking all corners with Shawn by his side who had quickly joined him.

"Clear." Shawn stated.

They suddenly heard Ricochet's voice sound in their ears. "Five."

Samson quickly brought himself to the other side of the closed door and met Soap's stare. He adjusted his gun and brought his hand to the knob, and slowly turned it. The door creaked open slightly but was met with a barrage of bullets and curses.

"Ti ammazzo! Ti ammazzo!" The man screamed from within his cabin.

Soap grabbed a flashbang from his side and pulled the pin. "Flashbanging." He tossed it into the small opening between the door and the frame as Samson followed through by slamming the door shut.

The man yelled profusely from his end as the screech of the flashbang emitted. More bullets were fired while they waited for the man's 9mm clip to run out. Once the remaining 12 shots were fired, Soap pushed his way in and blasted the crew man's jugular out. A stream of crimson rocketed out from the left side of his neck and hosed the ceiling. Quickly taking him out of his misery, Soap shot another bullet into his head. The man slumped and smashed his head onto the side of the bed as he fell over. Blood gurgled in his mouth.

"Six. Room clear." Soap stepped out of the room to follow Samson down the hall with Shawn and Trevor following close behind.

On the deck, where Price and Ricochet lurked across to make their way to the cockpit, a steady drizzle had stirred. Ricochet had managed to plant a bullet between a man's eyes that had been taking a stroll across the deck. Price guided them up a set of narrow stairs that led to the cockpit. Once they became visible from the inside of the enclosed control room, they could hear a man shouting from the confines of the cockpit.

With his sharp eyes, Price was able to spot the movement and fire a stream of bullets through the windows. Glass showered to the ground as the man attempted to run but was met with three bullets through the back.

Price spoke into the radio. "Seven."

Verifying the immediate vicinity was clear, Samson spoke into the radio. "Sleep quarters are clear. Price, Ricochet. What's your status? Over."

"We've made it to the cockpit. It's been cleared. Over." Price responded with his usual hoarse voice.

"Good. We're heading down to the hold. You two set off the engines then make your way to the bridge."

"Copy that." Price then peered over at Ricochet who quickly moved past him and towards the controls. She threw her TAR-21 over her shoulder and used her free hands to shut off the engine and release the anchor.

"Engines are offline." Ricochet confirmed over the radio before taking aim down her sights and following Price's step out the door and towards the upper level. The bridge would contain the computers and any other vital information on the shipment. They quickly climbed the stairs only to be met with a man aiming a 9mm down at them. Price's reflexes were abnormally fast as he shot the man dead and sending him flipping over the railing.

"Eight."

At the sound of Price's voice, Samson and his group quickened their pace towards the underbellies that housed the hold and the cargo it contained.

"Last set of crew must be with the inventory." Trevor said flatly from behind Soap.

Shawn emitted a small, amused snicker. "They're probably down there getting high as kites."

"Assuming we're actually on the right ship, and not on some civilian vessel." Samson stated lowly, causing a few people to get nervous.

"Let's hope not." Soap added in with contempt.

Price and Ricochet brought themselves onto the bridge and the highest point of the ship. He brought himself in through the already jarred door and motioned with his head for her to step in. His arm held the door in place as she glided past him. Pulling her mask back, she found herself before a set of computers.

"Watch my back while I install this software and extract the files." She ordered towards Price. He wasn't one used to being told what to do, but he respected her ability to take charge. Not missing a beat, she plugged in a USB and logged in where she quickly went to work.

Down in the under regions, the three brothers and Soap scoured the area and the levels as they descended. Distant voices echoed and reverberated off of the thick sheet metal.

"We're getting close." Shawn said as their ears picked up laughter and the increasing volume of the chatter. Just outside the threshold that came before the opening into the hold, Samson motioned for everyone to freeze.

"Soap, Shawn. Take aim."

With Samson's order now out in the open, the two of them brought their guns up high and snaked past the threshold. Their eyes scanned the area and the tops of boxes. Spotting distant shadows, they lowered themselves and made their way quietly down the stairs. Despite being a huge man, Soap had mastered the art of light feet, and Shawn naturally possessed the ability to move like a cat.

"They're off towards the back." Shawn said quietly.

"Aye. Wankers are making it easy for us." Soap replied.

Trevor and Samson moved themselves across the catwalk, staying aware of their visibility and surroundings.

"We got you two covered if you get compromised. But I doubt you'll have any problems." Trevor spoke on the radio from his position above them; the men's laughter that emitted from the back of the hold was hard to place, but they were closing in. The two of them slowed their pace as they grew near.

Soap suddenly threw his left fist into the air and up over his shoulder. "Hold. They're right around these boxes."

With that, Soap and Shawn placed their backs up against the wooden sides of the crates while Trevor and Samson began to make their way back for the stairs.

"Shawn, you're right. They're high as kites. Easy kills." Samson stated while he guided Trevor and himself towards a way down to the lower level.

Shawn and Soap looked at each other as Shawn's eyes watched for Soap's signal. Once Soap's hand signaled a three, they both spun around the boxes and took out the last targets, one of which's face slammed into a table covered with remnants of white dust.

"Nine."

"Ten."

Feeling satisfied with their kills, they lowered their guns and pulled back their mask revealing faces that glistened lightly from the build up of tiny sweat beads. They sent each other approving stares before hearing Trevor's voice sounding through the room.

"Holy shit! Shawn, come quick! Look at all of this raw pasta!" Trevor yelled with excitement. "They really do use decoy cargo!"

"Oh, no way!" Shawn spun on his heels and ran for Trevor's voice. Soap had to utter a small chuckle before following after him, but with a more comfortable pace.

Once spotting his two brothers peering into a wooden container they had pried open, Shawn ran towards the side of it to look in. But his eyes found no raw pasta, only the plastic packaging around thousands of grams of cocaine. He looked up to see a wide grin from Trevor and the amused smile on Samson's face which he tried to hide.

Shawn shoved Trevor's shoulder. "Fuck you, man."

Trevor emitted an entertained laugh. "Christ, you're gullible."

"I just wanted to believe…" Shawn replied as he shook his head. Soap entered the space he stood in, and even he had to flash a wide smile.

After a quick moment of prying open boxes, Price and Ricochet returned to the deck to meet up with the rest of the group. Samson had already radioed in for Shorty and Ivan's return, and the Talon members on standby converged in on the location to retrieve the ship.

Once all back together, Samson had to give an approving nod. Everything had gone smoothly. With the data Ricochet and Price had retrieved and the successful attempt at intercepting the Vasquez shipment of drugs and illegal arms, things were starting to look good.

* * *

Hey everyone! I've noticed I've been keeping a pretty consistent set of visitors for the story. I'm glad I have some people following a long, I just want everyone to love the story as much as I do. Thanks for bearing with me through the slower parts, but things are gradually coming together. Introductions can be a pain in the ass to type. So, if you're enjoying the story, I always love the feedback. If you're feeling it, leave me a positive comment! I'm open to criticism, but I would only hope people who actually LIKE the story are reading it still...anyways, thanks for reading!


	7. The In-Between

Here's another transition chapter. Pretty much just trying to get readers to get to know the characters a little more outside of missions.

* * *

**Chapter 7 - The In-Between**

"Do you all want the good news, or bad news first?" Samson asked the group sitting before him.

Shawn opened his hands out in front of him. "Depends-"

"Yeah, depends on which news we want to hear first." Reggie interrupted.

Shawn peered over at him. "Well, no shit. I mean it depends on how bad or good each is."

Reggie's eyes rolled over the wall as he thought. "...Considering bad news is never good news…"

"Oh Christ, you know what I mean-"

"Fuck guys. Just tell us the bad news first. Get it over with." Trevor butted in with impatience.

Samson waited for everyone's expressions to go back to their default settings before continuing. "We all good?" Everyone returned the stare, a few nodded. "Good. Well, it turns out there were actually two shipments. The second one Echo didn't learn about until recently."

"Wait," Trevor pulled himself forward. "What does that mean?"

"It means we made less money." Shawn commented.

Trevor's sharp eyes found him. "Yeah, no shit. I mean what does it mean 'Echo didn't learn about it until recently'. Did they just fuck up, or…?"

Price was ready to add into the conversation from his seat near the corner. "The original shipment Echo had learned about was just one load. That was the one we attacked. Somehow, last minute, that shipment was halved and split into two separate vessels. So, we only recovered half. The other half made it to Cuba."

"How'd that happen?" Shawn narrowed his eyes with inquiry.

Price had to give a small shrug. "No clue. Paranoia? Either way, we now know how big of a seller it was."

"This makes for a perfect transition into the good news," Samson announced. "The good news is, the shipment we intercepted was carrying a load that was equivalent to 4 million American dollars."

"Holy shit…" Shawn murmured with disbelief as Trevor nodded with approval.

Soap was ready to join the conversation as he moved his large hand away from his chin. "What's the next step?"

Price's eyes looked tired as they moved in Soap's direction. He had been up the night before with Samson, as they evaluated all of the new information Echo had just sent them. "The data we recovered indicated a certain seller in Italy. Near Napoli. They operate in a large warehouse, about 10km out of the city, disguised as a food packaging company."

"So they package food on the side, and package cocaine as their day jobs." Ricochet commented. She was returned with a slow nod from Price.

"Right. So this leads to my next point. Our next task is to find this warehouse and destroy it. The American government is giving us the OK, and the Italian government will simply think it was an unfortunate fire." Samson stated as he finally took a seat with a sigh. "This is getting big, and quick. This Vasquez drug lord deal...well, it's the biggest thing the TTF has taken on. We haven't been given this much clearance and freedom with something this significant before. I'm assuming it's because of our success rate-"

"That, and the American government doesn't want to get involved." Trevor added in.

"Exactly. So we can't fuck this one up." Samson finished.

Reggie had to bite his lip. "Whoa. Samson cussing. This _is_ a big deal."

"I know, right? Echo is in the process of verifying all the data we received and Talon is beginning to prepare our transportation, while we got a few days of standby duties." Samson had to relax back in his chair. "Although it's going to get chaotic, it's still a good thing. It means bigger paychecks, better equipment, better bases, the works."

"And credibility." Trevor chimed in with a raspy voice.

Price had to give a steady nod as Samson opened his mouth to speak. "Right. So, ideally, we'll hear back from Echo by tomorrow. Then Price and I will set up the plans, and hopefully, you all will be receiving a brief by tomorrow evening or the following morning. Sound good?"

Everyone nodded and was dismissed. The Darkhorse team separated and went off to do their own things.

Before everyone completely dispersed, Tatiana threw her arm into the air. "I will be giving haircuts in the hangar! I'm seeing some unsightly hair-dos and split ends. Price, you should _definitely_ consider stopping by."

Price's eyes shot over in her direction in mild amusement. He couldn't resist the urge to run his hand through his alright short, greying hair. "Did you just call me unsightly?"

She chuckled as Soap stepped in to make a comment. "Not a good look with a receding hairline, old man."

Price's blue eyes flicked towards Soap. "You better bloody watch it," he said with a sharp point of a finger.

Soap could only smile as Tatiana looked him up and down. "Hmm, you need to stop by as well. You have the opposite of a receding hairline, and your warhawk needs some trimming." She stated while rubbing her chin. She was a meatier woman, in her late 30s to early 40s. All the meat that could have gone to her rear ended up in her breasts giving her an even stockier look. Despite all of this, she had a fair, soft face which didn't match the rest of her build.

"What the hell is the opposite of a receding hairline?" Soap inquired with lowered brows of confusion.

"Widow's peak. Works with your warhawk...just...don't do any other hair-do." She replied.

He couldn't help but utter a small chuckle. "Luckily, I'm not in the mood for something different, so it looks like I'll be stopping by as well."

"Good! See you two gents in the hangar." She responded as she followed Reggie and Shorty's tracks.

Soap and Price paused to give each other a look as Price began to get Soap caught up with everything. "How are you liking Darkhorse?"

Soap's eyes met Price's stare and gave him an agreeable nod and shrug. "The interception mission went smoothly. Everyone seems to be professional and competent at what they do. No complaints from me."

"Good. I will give you a fair heads-up...since we're going to go get our hair cut."

"Oh?" Soap raised an eyebrow.

"Tatiana, she's an...eccentric woman. When she cuts your hair she'll most likely set her abnormally large breasts onto your head. She enjoys the confused looks on people's faces. At this point, everyone here is used to it. But you're new...so get ready for that."

"..." Soap blinked at his old man. "So...she's going to set her breasts onto the top of my head while cutting my hair? How's that work?"

Price shrugged and crossed his arms. "She'll reach for something. Set them right on top. Then chuckle at your expression. I get the feeling she'll have fun with you. Also," Price stepped closer. "She, well...she may grab your crotch."

Soap had to pull his head back to stare off into the distance as he bit his lip. "...And why's that?"

"She likes to say, 'I'm seeing what I'm missing'. She's a flap queen. So don't get too excited. I know you've gone a very long time without any kind of attention like that," Price had to pause to think. "Christ, mate. Probably at least 6 years." He looked to Soap and smiled from behind his grey beard.

Soap frowned disapprovingly as he was stuck between wanting to laugh and wanting to feel sorry for himself. "Very funny. I wasn't planning on getting action from a Russian dyke anyways…"

Price uttered a small snicker before patting Soap's shoulder and heading for the hangar. Soap rolled his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek as he followed.

Inside the hangar, Tatiana trimmed Reggie's warm-brown hair while Shorty and Trevor were off to the side near the Iroquois. Shorty's eyes found Soap's face and she couldn't help to utter to Trevor.

"Why does his face confuse me?" She asked quietly.

Trevor blinked slowly, before turning to look at her from his position on the step stool he sat on. "Who's face confuses you?"

"Soap's," she narrowed her eyes and gestured.

"That's kind of an odd observation."

She hopped down from the inside of her Iroquois and joined Trevor's side. "It's...I don't understand its shape. It annoys me. Try to draw it. I bet you can't draw it."

Trevor raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm not one for drawing men's faces. You know, Ricochet said you were pretty rude to him."

She threw her arms into the air. "He knocked me onto my ass! Then he was late getting to the dock, even _after_ we told him the ETA. Then he just has that air to him that says, 'I'm such a badass'."

He had to emit a quick laugh. "Alright, alright. So you two are off to a bad start. Give him a chance. The old man is clearly trusting in him. Meaning he's good. Besides," Trevor gestured in their direction, "he's probably just shy. That's what I get from him."

She blew some fallen hair out of her face. "Whatever."

Reggie then stood from his seat after Tatiana had brushed the hairs off his neck and removed the cape. He stretched and released a content sigh.

"Thanks for the haircut," he turned to her with a smile and ran a hand through his hair. "It feels fantastic."

She moved her cigarette away from her mouth and waved him off. "No problem, darling. Now move your ass. I got a line building up." Reggie laughed and moved away to join Shorty and Trevor. Tatiana spotted Soap and Price standing some distance away. She smiled at them and motioned for them to come. "So, who first?"

Soap felt Price's hand land on his back and push him forward. "You first, son."

Soap nodded and made his way for the chair. Tatiana looked him up and down as she sucked on her cigarette. Once he neared she patted the chair and removed the cape. "Sit down right here."

He brought himself into the chair and peered at the temporary vanity before him. His eyes stared at the reflection and found Tatiana's frosty-blue eyes as she lowered her brow and stuck her lips out. She observed his face and nodded. "So, what are we doing here? Trim?"

He bobbed his head in agreement. "Aye."

"Sounds good," she then reached for the trimmers as her breasts smashed into the top of his skull. He pursed his lips and nodded slowly with disbelief. She pulled back and saw the look on his face, and couldn't resist the urge to grin at him in the mirror. "Oh damn, forgot my scissors." She leaned back in and pushed even harder against him. Price shook his head with a smile as Reggie giggled.

"This is Soap's first experience. She's going to give him the most awkward time of his life." Trevor commented with a smirk.

Shorty had to snicker as she watched Soap's forehead disappeared underneath Tatiana's breasts. Soap's eyes were shining with a mixture of amusement, confusion, and terror. When she pulled back up, she flashed him another smile.

"What's the matter, darling?" She asked through her wide grin as her eyes stared at his reflection.

He shrugged and shook his head. "Nothing at all."

"Good!" She started up the trimmers and began to run it along the surface of his head and around his warhawk. Her hands guided the trimmers and his head in the necessary directions as she tilted his head forward to get the hair on his neck. He blinked towards the ground as he watched the dark hairs falls to the floor. He knew everyone watched him with entertained eyes. She tapped his shoulder, causing him to look up and find her stare in the mirror again. Preparing her scissors, she gave him an approving nod.

"I tell you what." She began as she brought the scissors to his hair after making it damp. "You look mighty fine."

"Hmm?" Soap lowered his brow.

"I said you look mighty fine. You've got the manliest chin and jawline combo I have ever seen. You're making me rethink my sexual preferences."

Soap smiled nervously as she had to chuckle at his facial expression.

"Ugh, no way!" Shorty suddenly shouted from her spot by Trevor.

"Did you hear that, Shorty? Soap's face makes Tatiana moist." Reggie announced loudly, causing Tatiana to let out a loud burst of laughter and Soap's face to blush.

Price even had to laugh. "The real charmer."

"Tatiana! No!" Shorty had to shout from her position. Tatiana paused to look over at Shorty with a wide smile. "Stick with the women. Don't change your sexual preferences for Chin over there."

"You gave him a nickname?" Trevor sent an amused look in her direction.

Tatiana spoke with entertainment through a wide smile. "Oh, hush. I'm just telling it as it is."

"Shorty just can't mentally digest Soap's man chin." Reggie commented, bearing his signature smile.

"Reggie, shut up." Shorty ordered, only causing him to laugh more.

Soap was not used to all of the attention, and the growing redness to his cheeks and the nervous smile were all distinct implications. Price smirked towards Soap whose eyes were screaming, 'help me!'

The meaty, Russian woman turned back to look at Soap's reflection and evaluate the work she had done. "Almost done, darling." Soap had to heave a relieved sigh as she finished her task and removed the cape from around his neck and shoulders.

With catlike speeds, Soap brought himself out of the chair and brushed his hand over the top of his head, causing some remaining hairs to fall off. He could feel his cheeks burning. The man could take insults, ridicule, bossy orders, and endless teasing, but he was not equipped for being complemented...or whatever that was back there. His eyes shot up towards the many faces that watched him; he felt like he needed to improvise a speech as the many eyes watched him with glazed over amusement.

Suddenly, Tatiana's voice grabbed his attention. "Feel fine?"

"What's that?" Soap asked quickly, looking towards her.

She smiled and pointed. "Your hair. Does it feel fine?"

"Oh," he began, hand still on his head. "Yes, much better."

"Good! Because it looks fantastic," she then smacked the back of the chair. "Price, get your fine-ass over here."

Price walked past Soap with a faint smile and took a seat. Still feeling uncomfortable, Soap left the hangar to hit up the courses and gym. He needed to escape the awkward space he was now finding himself in. As he left, Price could only snicker and shake his head.

"That muppet...he can bloody destroy a man with his bare hands but he can't handle some attention from a clam licker." His voice was course and laced with delectation.

Tatiana flashed a smile as she cleaned off her tools. "He'll come around. I guess he isn't used to it?"

"Used to female attention? Soap has done nothing but circle his life around his career; he hasn't had time for attention from females." Price met her stare in the mirror as she nodded.

"Let alone a 'clam licker', right?"

"Get to cutting this 'unsightly hair-do', love." He gestured towards his head.

She had to utter a giggle. "The old man is feisty today. I like it!"

Off in the barracks containing the indoor courses and gym equipment, Soap found a few others lifting weights and stretching out their bodies. Shawn was one of them. He greeted Soap with a nod of the head before scaling a wall and leaping over. Shawn made the task look easy as he ran up the side with intense agility. Soap's eyes ran over the equipment before finally making up his mind. Eventually, after some time had passed, Price joined the space a few Darkhorse members had occupied. He took a seat in a nearby chair and lit a cigar. After inhaling the cigar sweet smoke into his lungs he watched the movement before him. He was looking awfully suave while he smoked his cigar with his freshly groomed head.

After awhile of observing, a movement in his peripherals caught his attention; he recognized it as Ricochet. She approached Price with a content smile and concentrated eyes. The old man looked up at her from his chair while he puffed on a cigar. Once she stood before him, she nodded.

"Price," she began, "I'd be honored if you could show me some grappling and hand-to-hand combat techniques. I know a few fundamentals, but back in my days sniping in the Air Force, I didn't get much practice. Care to show me a few tricks?"

Price blinked up at her, taking everything in as a faint smile appeared from behind the greying hair on his face. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and determination glowed within her eyes. He respected the ambition, so he put out his cigar and brought himself up. Soap looked up from his position by the exercise equipment. The old man showing someone how to grapple? Now that was something to fear.

He stood before her and stared intently into her eyes where she returned the looked. "Anything in particular?"

She thought about it momentarily, but it didn't take long for she already knew what she wanted. "Defensive strategies. Like if I get compromised or attacked up close. I want to be able to have a counter ready. Quick thinking, fast reflexes, ways to break out of a grip, that sort of thing."

He bobbed his head in understanding. "Mm hmm, I could show you a few beginner techniques. You said you've practice fundamentals in the Air Force?"

"Very fundamental. Like prominent pressure points, thumbs being the weakest link to a person's grip...nothing fancy."

"We can start with some basic self-defense strategies. Like disarming and stunning." He replied nonchalantly as he began making his way for the floor mat, where he gestured for her to follow. She watched his backside as he strided with an air of confidence and refinement. Once he found a decent spot in the center, he turned to face her. "I'll show you a disarm if the person is holding a handgun. Here." He reached for his USP to give to her. "Safety's on. Double-check it." Her eyes looked it over to confirm that the gun was set to a safe setting.

"Yep," she verified.

"Alright, point it at me."

She hesitated momentarily, before raising the gun with both hands, one hand on the trigger and the other supporting the grip. With catlike litheness, he side-stepped, placed a strong palm against her wrist, and popped the gun right out of her hands. She felt her joints give and the weight of the gun disappear; her eyes found the guns in Price's hands where he was now aiming it at her face. Everything had happened so fast, that it took her wrist a second to realize that it was now sore.

"Always have to be quick. Don't hesitate to immediately take the shot once you've obtained the weapon. It would be unfortunate to successfully steal the weapon only to have it stolen back." He lowered the gun and raised his arm to hand it back to her.

She grabbed it back gently and prepared to take aim once again. "Alright, show it to me at a slower pace this time, Speedy Gonzales."

He smirked at her comment. "Aim it." She brought it up. This time he was slower and more obvious with his moments; Soap was now watching the whole thing unfold, forgetting that he only showed up to work-out and not to watch his old man train someone in hand-to-hand. "Watch the movement. Always move your head to the side first. The brain has a delayed response but your movement will scare your opponent, most likely causing them to get trigger happy. So once you side-step, bring your palm up to their outer wrists."

Yet again, his hand landed on her wrist and was big enough to encompass her entire hand and part of the gun. "Twist the wrist, pop it forward; it will weaken the grip, giving you an opening to snatch the gun right of their palm." He showed her the motion, grabbed the gun, then raised it before her face once again. "You do it to me this time. Go step-by-step, then you can try it out at a faster pace."

She nodded and immediately followed through by practicing the steps. She got it down quickly as her memory came back to her, and after a few attempts, she was ready to move on. Price showed her the technique if someone was holding a knife instead. Pretty similar, only difference was having to change the tactics around if someone was charging at you. After she managed to disarm Price several times, he was ready to move on to the next step.

"The next thing I'll show you is some hand-to-hand. You do have a weight disadvantage, unfortunately. However, that doesn't mean you can't stun someone long enough to get away or get the upperhand. I'll first point out several useful tips." He shook the tension out of his arms. "The collarbones can only support about 2.5 kg before snapping. In your American lingo, that's about 5 lbs." She smiled at him. "Using a palm or a strong fist, you can smack the air right out of someone with a well-placed hit to the sternum. Make sure you hit like you mean it. None of that sissy girl bullocks."

"You're splitting my sides." She replied with a big smile and sarcasm lacing her words.

"Also, the jaw will send someone for a loop. Hitting the heart will definitely cause them to catch their breath, and obviously the throat is a good way to stun someone...or the groin if you like those kind of dirty, cheapshots. Here, I'll have you watch some techniques before you can practice." Price turned his attention to Soap, whose eyes immediately widened. "Soap, get over here so that I can beat you up in front of the lady."

Soap heaved a sigh and ambled his way on over to their sides, where his eyes locked onto Price with anticipation. "What are you going to do to me this time, old man?"

"Be quiet and watch." Price immediately went in, snatched Soap's right forearm, sat it against his shoulder and threw Soap over his back and onto the floor. Soap laid there momentarily with the wind knocked out of him as Price gestured in his direction. "See that? You can attempt to pull that on someone who tries to take a punch at you. You use their momentum to carry them on over your back. Soap probably weighs 15 kg more than me, and look how gracefully he flopped into the floor."

Ricochet eyeballed Soap as he began to bring himself up; his face said that he knew what else was coming. "But...he didn't take a swing at you. Can you still flop them gracefully over your shoulder?"

"If you're strong enough, yes. Luckily for Soap, he loves getting injured."

"Let's just start cracking jokes at my terrible luck when it comes to getting hurt." Soap commented.

"Once a muppet, alway a muppet," Price replied carelessly as he snagged Soap's arm again and placed a palm into his outer elbow, this time he didn't complete his attack. "If you hit this spot hard enough you can dislocate their elbow. Especially if they take a swing at you, and their arm is stiff. Great counterattack." Price let Soap go and patted him on the back. "Take a swing at me, Soap. Mean it too, I want to see you mad."

"Price…" Soap sighed.

"Do it, son. The lady needs to see examples." Soap just stared at Price. "Go ahead, show her what you can do."

Soap rolled his neck and swallowed hard and took a quick jab at Price, but was met with a counter. Price grabbed a hold of his forearm, spun it around his back, and broke Soap's balance by kicking in the back of his knee. Soap fell onto his other knee but was forced onto his face by Price.

"What kind of bloody punch was that, mate? Get pissed. You can knock a wanker out with one punch to the jaw, so you bloody better act like you can." Price taunted.

Soap turned his head and exhaled against the mat. His eyes found Ricochet's amused, big-eyed stare. He wasn't used to having women around...it was making him nervous and more uneasy having her watch him get his ass handed to him by someone old enough to be his dad

So Price got off of him and allowed for him to stand, where he turned to face Price who was smirking at him with amusement. Price pointed at his own chin. "Right here, Soap. In case you forgot where the chin was."

Soap blinked and flashed a quick smile, before planting his feet and sending a surprise lefty in Price's direction. This time he put more force into it, but Price managed to block it and return a quick shot into Soap's sternum. All of the air in Soap's lungs shot out as he took a step back from receiving the blow. For some reason, it hurt way more than he anticipated. He couldn't tell if it was the old man's strength alone, or something on his end from after taking a knife to the chest from back in his day. After a short moment, Soap straightened his posture and returned to staring at Price. Price nodded at him then looked to Ricochet.

"There's that. Now work with her on it, Soap. I got somewhere to be." Price claimed, uncrossed his arms, and began making his way for the door to outside. The two of them blinked in his direction.

"...Alright," Soap murmured as his eyes landed onto Ricochet's side profile.

"Thanks, Price!" She said after the old man who rose his hand in the air to return the gesture.

She then turned to face Soap and met his eyes. Feeling nervous that she caught him in mid-stare, he scratched his head and moved his eyes off to peer at a distant object. "So, I guess he wants me to show you some stuff."

She gestured in agreement and could immediately see the change in his mannerisms. Ricochet couldn't quite tell if he was anxious...or just uninterested in showing her anything. "If-if you'd rather not show me anything right now, that's not a problem."

He shook his head. "No, it's no trouble, I just uh…" his eyes found her again, "...never practice sparred with a lass before."

"Oh, yeah?" She smiled in his direction. "Afraid you'll break me?"

"Break you?"

She shifted her weight. "Yeah...because I'm just so fragile," she said jokingly.

"Oh...so, you think I'm worried I'll shatter you?"

She had to chuckle at the way he said it. "Yes, you have a look in your face that says, 'Oh God...don't break her back.'"

He shrugged and had to nod. "Yeah, that's probably a concern."

"I'll just get Price to practice with me tomorrow, or-"

"No, no. Price said to help you, so I'm going to help you." He turned his body in her direction, they stood roughly 3 feet apart. It was a comfortable distance, but her aura was swarming around him.

She tapped his arm and took a step back. "Well, let's do this then."

He knew she was a pretty girl, but he hadn't had many instances where he was standing at a much closer proximity. Her round, blue-eyes made his heart skip a beat, it was something he was not used to. They had chatted a few times, but not once had they ever touched, so her quick tap to his upper arm would have been the first. And they were about to go into full-contact mode.

"So, um…maybe we'll recap what Price just did to me, I can run over that again for you, then you just repeat the steps on me."

"Sounds good," she replied with a smile.

He paused before doing anything, he wasn't quite sure with how to start the practice spar. His nervousness was making her tense. He took a step forward and steadily became more comfortable as they started with the techniques.

Soap began to ease out of his awkward mannerisms as he reviewed the defensive techniques. To the point where she was finally getting the chance to actually practice them. Shorty walked in with Tatiana and Reggie, and had to stare with an odd amount of disgust and confusion.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Shorty asked with a raised brow. At the moment, Ricochet had Soap's arm behind his back.

They both looked over at her. "Oh, just practice sparring. Price showed me some techniques, now Soap is." Ricochet replied.

Shorty nodded her head slowly. "The Chin is making his presence known."

Tatiana snickered. "Aww, that's adorable. You both look so precious."

Immediately, Soap and Ricochet felt embarrassed, especially Soap.

"Well…" Shorty waved her hand through the air. "You all have...fun."

Suddenly, Reggie ran past them shouting while holding some sort of contraption in his hand. "Shawn! Shawn! Come look at what I constructed."

Shawn dropped everything he was doing to place his hands on his hips and stare over with bewilderment. "Christ. What now?"

Reggie approached him. "Robot arm. It feeds you food."

"Sounds useless…" Shawn commented as the two became immersed in their new found entertainment.

As Shorty walked off with an amused Tatiana, Soap suddenly broke out of Ricochet's hold and reversed the roles. Her eyes were wide with perplexity as she could hear him chuckle quietly behind her.

"Oh man!"

"How's that for a counter?" Soap asked with his deep voice. For some reason the way he said it behind her ear with his chest near her back, it made her unusually flabbergasted. With the position he had her in, he could smell her hair and it smelled refreshing. Then his eyes wandered down her frontside where he got a decent shot of her cleavage that her sports bra pushed up. He swallowed hard, grew uneasy, and had to immediately let her go. He pulled himself away as she turned around to face him, rubbing her shoulder.

"You put some force into that one," she commented.

"Sorry."

"No. It's fine. You're going to have to show me how to counter a counter now."

"The first thing you did, that was lacking proficiency, was the strength of your hold. You really have to put your weight into that." He stated, trying to get his mind off of irrelevant things. "You also let your guard down."

She nodded. "Next time I'll just have to make sure Shorty's not around." His eyes fell onto her chest but went back to her face where he was met with a smile and a blush. "Well, maybe now's good time to end this session. Thanks for giving me your time."

Soap exhaled, trying to release all of the tension through his body. "Not a problem. Get Price or I if you want to practice again."

She gave him a faint smirk before turning to leave. He couldn't resist the urge to watch her ass move side-to-side as she made her way for the door. He suddenly grew annoyed and had to rub his temples. Frustration filled his mind. Lydia suddenly approached him with curious eyes.

"Hey," she said as she neared.

He pulled his head up and craned his neck. Their eyes met as she stared up at him with a growing smile. It was a different kind of smile, more of a flirty smile, unlike the kind smile Ricochet had flashed him. Once he faced her, she immediately began talking his ear off. He had been acquainted with Darkhorse for a little over a week, and already he had experienced more female attention than he had in years. Soap wasn't really sure if he found it annoying or not, but the way Lydia began to speak to him was definitely starting to bother him.

"I'm just a medic for the base, but I wouldn't mind being taught some techniques as well. Can you try some on me?" She had asked him with big brown eyes.

He blinked at her, feeling disinterested, but wasn't quite prepared for a negative reply. "Hmm, I'd actually rather go run some courses. I think I'm all sparred out."

She shifted her weight. "You just looked like you knew what you were doing. I just thought it'd be nice to learn from an expert." Her flirty hand found his forearm, where he immediately broke off the touch to run his hand through his freshly trimmed hair. He was ready to talk himself out of this one, especially as he felt hunger creeping up on him. Shawn's voice began to increase with an irritated volume.

"Oh, God...what do you have in store for me now?" He asked Reggie with impatience.

"A robot arm that feeds you junk food."

Shawn stared down at the black contraption. "Sounds like an enabler."

"Or a jerk off buddy-here just try it out!"

"Wait. What?" Shawn took a step back to narrow his eyes at his brother.

Reggie raised the robot arm out before Shawn's face. "Let it give you a Cheeto."

"No, wait. What did you just say?"

Reggie stared at him with a deadpan expression. "Cheeto?"

"No, before that."

"Robot arm?"

Shawn pursed his lips with aggravation. "...no after robot arm."

Reggie rubbed his chin as he lowered the mechanical arm. "Hmm...junk food?"

"NO, you're digressing!" Shawn threw his arms into the air.

"How about you tell me what you thought I said."

Shawn moved his weight to the side and crossed his arms. "Pretty sure I heard you say jerk off buddy."

Reggie lowered his voice to a near inaudible level. "...My advertising and subliminal messages are working…"

"What was that?"

"Just try it." Shawn found the robot holding a Cheeto before his face once again.

"No, Reggie! Last time you tested one of your...experiments on me, I got injured. So fuck that."

"It's not an experiment if it works and I already know what to expect." Reggie stared blankly into his brother's face who returned an annoyed expression.

"Oh yeah? Then why bother having me use it?"

"For science." Reggie replied, eyes shining with intrigue.

"You JUST said that you already knew what to expect. So why would you need to use it for science if you know the outcome?"

"Please…"

Shawn blinked in his direction, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, before sighing and taking a step forward. "Ugh, fine. Let's get it set up and let it feed me a fucking Cheeto."

While the two chatted, Soap's attention had long since left Lydia and was now watching the two brothers' trade-back. One could tell they had a strong connection, even as they debated over the robot arm. Lydia was noticing she had lost Soap's interest a long time ago and followed his stare, just in time to see Shawn's face get beaten with a robot arm holding a Cheeto. The cheesy snack smashed into Shawn's chin and broke against the bones in his face.

Shawn took a step back, disgust and rage burning in his eyes as he wiped the orange crumbs off of his face. "Reggie, what the FUCK?"

"Oops...Something went wrong."

Shawn's green eyes glared in Reggie's direction only to be met with a wide grin. "No. No. You fucking _meant_ that. You wanted it to beat me in the face. And I fell for it."

"It worked for me. I guess it just didn't like you."

Shawn's hand quickly swiped for the robot arm, but missed as Reggie raised it into the air and high above Shawn's head.

"Give it to me." Shawn bent his knees ready to jump.

"I will perfect it. Make it better. Evolve it into its final form." Reggie said as he quickly turned the robot arm away from Shawn as he leapt in the air at it. "No, Shawn! Back down! This is my invention and you cannot have it!"

"Fine! Keep it! Add it to your collection of other useless crap that you've hurt me with!" As Shawn shouted, everyone in the gym using the equipment and running the courses had all come to a pause to watch the two brothers' interaction. Shawn pointed at his brother. "You are the epitome of inappropriateness and bad decisions."

Reggie could only laugh with his mischievous giggle.

"..." Shawn lowered his arms then sighed. "I'm leaving to go eat."

"My robot arm can help you with-"

"No! Fuck you." Shawn interrupted as he walked away and for the door.

As he walked past Soap and Lydia, Reggie's eyes followed him and quickly realized Lydia had captured another defenseless soul. Feeling compelled, he quickly felt the need to go save Soap from his trap. Reggie lowered the robot arm and made his way for the two.

"Hey, Soap!" Reggie threw an arm into the air, where Soap's eyes immediately found Reggie's stare. Lydia crossed her arms with annoyance as she glared at Reggie. Once Reggie grew near, he looked towards the brown-haired girl. "Lydia, I have to discuss important matters with my Scottish friend here. Mind leaving?"

She huffed, "Fine," before storming off to leave for the door; lunch time was growing near.

Reggie peered back to Soap who instantly returned the stare with thankful eyes. "Look. I'm just going to jump straight to chase." He stepped in closer to Soap who watched him with intent. "Stay away from Lydia."

Soap raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Well," Reggie had to take a moment to think over his words. "Depending on what type of man you are, you'll either love Lydia or hate her. And based upon your character, you seem to be more of the type to hate her."

"Oh? Does she not leave a good impression?"

Reggie exhaled as he readjusted his invention. "She's pretty much a whore. But keep that quiet. We can get into big trouble around here for getting...sexually involved with other members. It's not quite viewed as professional, for obvious reasons."

Soap nodded with understanding. "I was beginning to get that impression from her."

"Yeah, she's a decent medic, which is why I personally haven't said anything to one of the commanders. I know several members despise her, Price actually being one of them...as well as Tatiana. The radio guys enjoy her though, especially up in their little radio tower."

Soap furrowed his brow. "That's classy."

"Well, I guess if it makes them less stressed, then go for it. But I prefer a proper lady. Not the type to throw herself at anything that walks upright and has a penis," Reggie turned his body towards Soap. "And you're still new here, so she viewed you as a decent target. But, luckily now you know to avoid her...unless you're into that sort of thing."

"No thanks." Soap was quick to reply.

"I figured as much."

Soap was hit was a sudden thought. "I know Tatiana is into the lassies, but what about the other two? Shorty and Ricochet? They don't cross me as the type to seduce men."

Reggie immediately shook his head. "Oh, not at all. You're safe around them. I'm sure the radio guys would love to get into their pants, but they have no chance at all. Those two actually respect themselves and take their job seriously. Not only that, they're fun too. As time goes on, you'll see why they're senior members here. Not only have they've been with TTF for awhile, but they've proved themselves as well. You earn respect, not demand it."

Soap nodded with agreement. "Good. I was under that impression from them. Just really wanted to make sure that they are handling their jobs with professionalism."

"Oh, no doubt. As much as I hate to admit it, Shorty is an amazing helicopter pilot. She knows damn well how to maneuver a immensely giant chopper through tight areas. And Ricochet...had one of the highest hit rates as a reconnaissance sniper in the Army. I'd put my money on her any day."

"So, a sharpshooter?"

"Hands down. Price mentioned something before you came along about your two's experience with scoped rifles as well. You should challenge her...that is if you don't mind getting put into your place."

Soap had to utter an amused chuckle. "I guess I'll have to wait to see for myself."

"Sure." Reggie's eyes found the Tobias and Ivan who were now making their way for the exit. He quickly looked at his wristwatch. "Lunch time. We better get going."

Soap nodded and followed Reggie for the door. After having lunch and a few hours had passed, Samson and Price wanted to gather up Soap and the senior members to inform them on the recent news. They all stood near Shorty's Iroquois within the hangar; industrial fans blowing in the background.

Once everyone looked adjusted and comfortable, Samson spoke. "Echo got back with us. Surprisingly fast, which is good. Our next assignment is set into place, so now Price and I can start preparing you all for it," Samson looked to Price. "Price."

"Right. Napoli, Italy. Our next destination. The sellers are located in the hills, near the wineries and vineyards. The warehouse is somewhat near an old village. Ancient tunnels are known to run underneath the town. We're going to access the warehouse from those. We're led to believe they do some of their inventory transportation through those tunnels, so we should have easy access into the warehouse." Price paused to run his eyes over the faces before him. "Once inside the warehouse, we'll set up the charges, retrieve more information on other sellers in Europe, then light the place up. Easy enough, right?"

"So, we get to blow up an entire warehouse full of cocaine and other drug cartel?" Shawn questioned with wondering eyes.

"We're joint operating with a few Talon members who will actually be posing as shipment delivery men. Once we make the place safe for them to enter, they will load up what they can onto their truck then head for the hills before we light up the night sky." Samson responded with his usual air of calmness.

"Sweetness," Shawn uttered.

"So, there's the quick update. We'll give you all a brief tomorrow morning and immediately set out for departure. Sound good?"

Everyone was quick to respond with excitement. With that, they all went their separate ways once again as motivation filled their veins at the thought of the upcoming mission.

* * *

If you're interested in seeing some fan-art and what the characters look like, check out my DeviantArt account which is linked under my profile information. I'm still working on getting the other characters sketched up.


	8. Walking with History and the Dead Part 1

**Chapter 8 - Walking with History and the Dead - Part 1**

The Darkhorse members were yet again finding themselves staring into the faces of Samson and Price; both bore similar expressions as they started up the computer and projected its screen onto the wall. They all watched as the projector warmed up and began to cast the images against the wall's surface. Once the information and slides were up Price turned to face the watchful eyes.

"Alright, so here how this one is going to go. Napoli, Italy. As I mentioned before, there's a warehouse there disguised as a food packaging plant. The selected team members will depart to Italy tomorrow morning where they should arrive within a few hours. After landing, Talon will pick you all up and take you to the outskirts of the warehouse, closer to the village, and breach the tunnels and begin your long trek underground in search of the the entrance into the warehouse. Clear the proximity. Retrieve the data on the sellers and buyers. Then plant the charges and light the place up." Price was straight to the point and paused to glance at the many faces before him. "Easy enough, right?"

Everyone nodded as Shawn gestured to indicate he had a question. "You mentioned 'selected team members'. Do you all already have them picked out?"

Samson nodded with understanding. "We're actually going to give a few of you the option to stay or go. We only want four members, there's no need for more than that. There's also a minor issue with...heights."

"Heights?" Ricochet asked as she lifted her chin up.

Immediately, Samson's eyes landed on Soap. "These tunnels, the clearance is only 6 feet-72 inches-they were built in the medieval into the Renaissance period and, well, people were obviously much shorter then. So, Soap, you know where I'm going with this."

"That means I going to be doing a lot of hunching over." Soap responding as his eyes flashed intricately.

"Yes. That's why we're giving you the option to sit this one out. Price or I could go in your place."

Soap shifted in his seat and sat forward. "Everyone here is going to be doing a lot of hunching. Even you and Price's heads will be pushing against the ceilings. I'd prefer to go."

"That's fine. We were just giving you the option. Trevor, Shawn, you two are definitely going. Rico, I usually would have you sit this sort of thing out, but we could use your help as well. You and Shawn will be the only ones sort of comfortable down there." Samson replied.

"Even then, though. That's a tight fit. And four of us?" Shawn commented with wide eyes.

Price shrugged and emitted a quick grunt. "You each will serve a necessary purpose. Breach the warehouse, clear the area, set up charges, and retrieve the necessary data on Vasquez's clientele. Stay orderly and spread out to cover as much ground possible in the shortest amount of time. Scan the areas. Leave no one alive. We don't need any survivors spreading the word around about who their new found threat is."

"Vasquez and their sellers and buyers will certainly be pissed. Getting hit two times in an eight day time span?" Trevor announced as a few eyes landed on him.

"Enragement will ensue." Shawn chimed in.

"Damn straight." Price said with his usual raspy voice.

Reggie clicked on a pen as his eyes shot up. "So, who's doing the transporting? Shorty and Hot-Shot again?"

Samson found Reggie's face. "Most likely. We don't have enough people in order to require a plane."

Reggie had to heave a sigh as Shorty quietly mocked him from behind his back. "Haha, I'm more important."

"Oh, aren't you just a special little gem." Reggie returned the tone only to receive an amused smile.

Price raised a remote to change the slide. "Here's the map and the layout of the warehouse-"

Suddenly, everyone froze and stared up at the image on the screen. It was definitely no map or warehouse layout. Instead, it was a picture of Shawn sleeping soundly against his pillow with a drawing of a penis pointing towards his mouth. Immediately, a few hands went up to cover the growing smiles.

Shawn lowered his brow into a glare. "Really, guys? Really? When the hell was that?"

"Last night." Reggie responded and met Shawn's unamused stare.

Price looked over in Reggie's direction in disapproval as Samson peered over intently at the image.

Shawn gestured with annoyance. "You all are fucking persistent. You went out of your way to draw a penis, take that picture, save it, then upload it to their brief of our upcoming mission?"

"Real mature, guys." Trevor said from his position, unable to completely hide his smirk.

"I must have missed the memo that said we were back in high school." Shawn commented with an irritated expression.

"Pissed off Shawn is the best Shawn." Reggie said with a grin.

Shawn heaved a solid huff.

"Moving on," Samson stated over the growing commotion and gestured for Price to moved to the next slide where he immediately had to release a sigh. This time, it was a picture of a bearded dragon lizard, mouth slightly open, with the caption 'huehuehuehue' by it. Price clicked to the next slide which finally revealed the map.

"Glad to see the that didn't stretch to unnecessary proportions." Price muttered, and the way he said it caused a few smiles to widen; even Soap had to flash a smile at the old man. "Alright, so here's the map of the village, you all will be dropped off a klick to the southeast, where the previously mentioned Talon members will carry you off to the entrance to the tunnels which had been dug up by locals. From there, you all will have to journey your way to the warehouse. It'll probably take roughly 45 minutes to reach it from those."

"Doing some research with Echo, we were able to uncover an old map of the tunnels, which we updated to reveal the portions of tunnels which have caved in and are inaccessible," Samson picked up where Price left off as the map of the underground tunnels lit up on the screen. Soap immediately grabbed for his pen and journal where he began to quick sketch out the layout. "You all will have a digital copy of this uploaded to your GPS's. It's crucial to really take note of your location. It's a commonly known fact that a few ignorant souls get lost in these tunnels, only to be met by starvation. Don't go joining them."

Trevor's eyes peered over at his older brother. "Where will you and Price be in all of this."

"Handling the large batch of contracts that just came in. We have to shuffle through all of them to accept or deny the requests. Not all are necessary or crucial. We'll be easy to reach, should you need us."

"Business has been picking up." Trevor stated with mild excitement in his voice.

Samson nodded. "It has. The war's over, the world is still a shitty place, and we're back in business."

"Yay." Shawn murmured flatly.

Price promptly brought the blueprints of the warehouse up. "This will also be uploaded onto your systems. Study it. If the place is armed, which there's a chance it may, you won't have time to constantly check your wrists." Soap sketched quickly as his attentive movements caught a few's attention; as he doodled his tongue slightly poked, giving him an almost boyish look. "Questions?"

Giving themselves a few moments to ponder, the group didn't have any current concerns and were ready to start their mental and physical preparations for the upcoming mission. They dispersed and went to work.

Once evening time rolled around, Soap found himself sitting outside with Price. They traded few words but kept them meaningful. Like always, Price was taking his usual smoke break, unlike Soap, who generally leaned towards a smoke break during a mission or when his stress meter was reaching an all time high. At the moment though, he was feeling fresh.

Keeping his eyes on the commotion in the hangar, Price spoke. "Have you kept in touch with your mother?"

Soap stared ahead and blinked thoughtfully. His eyes found Price in his peripherals. "I want to, but I'm afraid to initiate it. Worried the Royal Army is tapping into my mum's communications as well. Especially since we both high-tailed out of there."

Price nodded with understanding.

"Still. I would like to check in. It's the least I can do...especially with all she's put up with from me."

"You're making it sound like you're a bad son."

Soap shrugged. "It's not that I think I am. I just don't like the idea of my mother always being at the edge of her seat because of me. She never wanted me to get involved with a military career, as would any mother. But she also wanted me to follow my dreams, and not just be part of the common folk." He had to sigh and set his weight back against the metal siding of the barrack. "I guess I've been purposefully waiting for the perfect moment. I want some of the tension to blow over before reaching out."

Price puffed on his cigar. "You know that will never happen."

Soap had to utter a quick, amused chuckle at the comment. "Now isn't that the sad truth?"

"Reach out to her after this mission. You're going to get busy after this warehouse ordeal, so you may not have many other opportunities."

Soap nodded slowly as his mind absorbed the information. He didn't have much of a reply ready and could only roll his tense shoulders and stretch his neck. Tobias and Delroy walked past with an air of calmness as Price and Soap sat in a serene silence. Eventually, a woman's voice broke the stillness, abruptly stirring them from their thoughts.

"Hey, I saw you stretching your shoulders. Do you need me to show you some good techniques?" It was Lydia. She stood over them as Soap found her eyes, but not before getting a look from Price.

"Um, I already know several. I think I'll pass." Soap was quick to respond but was only met with a stare. "Thanks, anyways."

He was hoping that the conversation was now over, but she didn't budge. Price remained stationary as his eyes wandered off into the distance; keeping a mindful ear on the two.

"Well, I do have experience in physical therapy. Several people stop by throughout the day to loosen up. I'm just offering it to you, should you ever need it."

Soap shifted. Reggie's words rung in his ears and even though Price's eyes weren't watching, his attention sure was. He could feel the shift in Price's aura. All Price could think about was hoping Soap's obliviousness wasn't kicking in.

Lydia looked to the back of Price's head before finding Soap's soft eyes, which were now bearing an expression of unease.

"It's ten minute sessions." She stated, her eyes running across his face.

He was now focusing ahead as Trevor off in the distance caught his eyes. Trevor was closing in the distance between them as he strided from the hangar with refined mannerisms. As he stepped near, he grabbed Lydia's attention.

"Lydia. Shawn needs you. Shipment just came in; he needs your help organizing the medical supplies we just received." Trevor said firmly as he locked eyes with her.

"Ok, thanks," she replied seemingly disinterested as she ambled past Trevor with mild annoyance.

Trevor, with his hands in his pockets, looked to Soap. He nodded in the Scotsman's direction before pulling out a lighter and a cigarette.

"Mind if I join you two?" He asked. But it was more of a statement than a request, because he was already leaning his weight against the back of the barrack.

Price gestured. "Go for it."

Trevor lit his cigarette and put up his lighter. Removing the cig from his mouth to exhale, he stared off into the horizon where the vanishing sun lay. Soap was yet again thankful for someone swooping in to get rid of Lydia for him. There was just something about her he didn't like. She was a cute girl, with big brown eyes and straight brown hair, but her brown irises lacked that intelligent shine that he deeply enjoyed in a person's eyes. Each of their minds were elsewhere as they became lost in their different thoughts. Feeling compelled, Soap felt for a cigar to light up, which he currently had none on him; they're were back in his room. Without missing a beat, Price handed him one.

"You owe me one." The old man grunted.

Soap smirked as he accepted the offer. Trevor immediately let him borrow his lighter. Both men knew Soap didn't come prepared for a quick smoke break. The three men sat in a calming stillness while they inhaled and exhaled the sweet scent of the tobacco smoke.

The rest of the evening dragged on casually, and not much eventfulness occurred. It was the peaceful night before the storm. The breeze was steady and the night air was cool.

The next morning rolled in and the team set out at daybreak. A few of them uttered a quick yawn as Shorty and Hot-Shot prepared for take-off. Tobias gave them clearance and the radio guys established a strong and clear signal with Shorty's radio. Soap sat next to Trevor, who glanced at Shawn and Ricochet sitting across from them. It was going to be another tedious trip of just sitting in one place and speaking sparingly.

Like before, they refueled in Sicily and found themselves in an eerily similar position. Trevor and Soap took their 'before a mission' smoke break as the chopper fueled up; Shawn and Ricochet sat calmly off in the distance, and Shorty and Ivan waited patiently for the Iroquois to fill up.

"So, you ready for this?" Trevor asked with the cigarette in his mouth; it bobbed with the movement of his lips.

Soap's eyes found him, mid inhale on the cigar. Exhaling, he responded. "For Italy?"

Trevor nodded. "Yep. By the sounds of it, we're going to be crammed like sardines in there. We gotta figure out a suitable formulation for us."

Soap gestured his head slowly in agreement as he looked off towards the chopper where Ricochet and Shawn sat. Analyzing the different members' sizes he turned to speak. "I can stay in the back. If I'm up front, I'll block everyone's line of sight. If I'm near the back, I won't be obscuring anything."

"Probably the best bet. Rico and Shawn can stay in the middle, and I'll lead." Trevor lowered his cigarette. "Not one for leading, but this can be the exception."

The sound of the chopper blades starting back up grabbed their attentions. Flicking their cigar and cigarette butts to the ground, they headed for the Iroquois with anticipation. Once on board, Trevor grabbed their all's attention with the wave of a hand and a raised voice.

"So here's how it'll go. I'm leading, Soap's got our tails. It's going to be a real tight fit down there, but we'll make it work. Give the person in front of you the necessary distance. About a meter. It's going to be dark down there, and we don't need any of us tripping on one another." Trevor's voice was muffled by the rotating propellers.

"Sounds reasonable." Shawn commented as his eyes shot towards the endless space outside.

Eventually, the mediterranean disappeared below them and was replaced with the green countrysides of Italy. They flew past vineyards and quaint little towns and villages as they neared Napoli.

Shorty's voice buzzed in their ears. "ETA 10 minutes."

The group shifted in their seats. Unlike the boat mission, they're uniforms were a bit more loose and breathable. With dark grey and black pants, dark blue long sleeved shirts, and beige colored vests, the group appeared comfortable despite being equipped with handguns, flashbands, suppressed ACRs, and fresh magazines.

Once the time had passed and the Iroquois hovered above the LZ, Trevor and Soap tossed the ropes over and glided to the ground where Shawn and Ricochet followed shortly after.

"We're setting off. Pick up will be here at 2200 hours." Shorty's voice sounded in their ears as they flew off.

"Copy that." Trevor responded as he began to lead the group up the small incline before them.

The sun was disappearing beyond the horizon, and the distant vineyards were veiled by navy blue shadows. Crickets silenced as they drew near with their soft footsteps that matted down the grass.

Shawn rose his head up. "When is Talon meeting us?"

"Should be a little further to the southeast," Trevor replied as his eyes scanned the hills. "Keep your eyes peeled for a delivery truck."

Their strong legs brought them up to the top of the hill where they all peered over the side to observe the vast land before them. The ACRs were tossed over their shoulders as their arms hung at their sides. Trevor crossed his arms as Shawn placed his hands on his hips while rolling his tongue around in his mouth.

Soap suddenly pointed. "There's the water tower. South of the dirt road."

All eyes landed on the tiny water tower which barely poked its head up from over the treeline.

"Let's go." Trevor headed down the hill, the crew following shortly behind.

Talon was scheduled to pick them up southeast of Napoli near the water tower, and spotting it was just the first of many steps on their long journey ahead.

Quickening their pace, they reached the road where a lone delivery truck caught their eye. The headlights suddenly lit up as the engine started. A man poked his head out of the window and stared them down.

"Who are you with?" The man asked through lowered brows.

"Themis." Trevor replied as he received a nod quickly in return.

After creeping inside the back of the truck, the four of them waited patiently until their next stop. Several minutes had passed before the back door slid upwards and banged against the top. They met with the intent stare from the two Talon members who gestured for them to exit. Following orders, they all hopped out to find the sun completely set and the space around them to be lit up by the light of the rising moon. It was a gorgeous and eerie scene.

The Talon member from before pointing to the east. "Tunnel entrance is half a klick to the east. A new entrance had been dug up by local thugs. You can gain access through that. Should be easy to spot. Gaping hole in the ground surrounded by century old rock."

The group nodded as Shawn shifted his weight to one side. "Think we'll encounter any locals down there?"

The man nodded. "There's a chance."

"What's our clearance for handling that should we run into some?" Ricochet asked with wondering eyes.

He blinked slowly and furrowed his brow. "Incapacitate. Kill them if you have to. If some of the 'locals' down there are members of the gang, they'll blow your cover or kill you on the spot."

"Makes enough sense." Shawn murmured.

"It's either us or them." Ricochet stated as she caught sight of Trevor's movements.

Trevor had nodded with approval and quickly rounded on his heels to lead the pack; Soap staying near the back with Ricochet and Shawn in front of him. Keeping an eye on their GPSs and watches, they knew they drew near as deteriorating stone columns came into sight.

"Time to take aim. If this is a fresh entrance, we may have company." Soap said lowly. The members agreed and removed their assault rifles from their backs.

Prowling forward, disturbed earth caught their attention under the moonlight. Drawing in closer, they found the entrance. Heaving a sigh, Trevor turned on the small LED light on his vest and rose his ACR.

"Time to journey into the abyss." He moved himself forward with a rhythmic movement as Shawn, Ricochet, and Soap followed after.

* * *

This chapter came out really long, so I'm breaking it into two parts. Part two should be up soon.


	9. Walking with History and the Dead Part 2

**Chapter 8 - Walking with History and the Dead - 2**

Trevor adjusted his watch and glanced at the screen on his wrist. He opened up the underground layout and began to make his way through the narrow passages. Everyone kept their heads low, just sensing the space around them was tight and sparse. Trevor's hair brushed against the ceiling, and Shawn and Ricochet only had a few inches of clearance. Soap on the other hand, underestimated just how awkward it'd be. He was the only one over 6 foot, to add to it, he was four inches oversized, five if you count in the hair that sat atop his head. Pausing to look down the two different passages that now stood before him, Trevor took a right and ducked underneath a portion of rock which had drooped from the weight of the earth above them. It was chilly and rather unusual; the hairs on their arms and neck stood up.

Noticing the dips in the ceiling and the random narrowing of the space, Trevor had to look over his shoulder to observe Soap. The light on his vest put a glare on Trevor's vision, but he could see the slightly annoyed expression on the Scotsman's face.

"You doing alright back there, Soap?" Trevor had to ask with mild concern.

"Just fine."

Ricochet couldn't resist the urge to look back at him. His eyes quickly found her's. Feeling a bit of his tension rushing off of him, she looked back forward where she was met with the backs of Shawn and Trevor's heads.

Suddenly, Trevor came to a complete stop as he threw his fist into the air. "Hold."

Everyone paused. The space around them filled with distant sounds of dripping water and faint scurrying. Trevor held his position but lowered his fist and began to scan the area.

"Thought I heard voices." Trevor whispered quietly.

With those words out in the open, everyone fell even more still as they slowed their breathing and honed in their senses. All they could hear was the soft and crisp breeze that blew in from the outside and the hurried paws from the many rats that turned the dark and narrow space into their homes. The way the breeze touched the backs of their necks sent shivers down their spines.

"Hmm, must of just imagined it." Trevor stated flatly before continuing his pace. Taking a sharp left, he slipped through yet another narrow opening. "That threshold gave in at some point. Watch your step."

The rest of the group carefully stepped over the crumbled debris as Shawn heaved a sigh. "Christ. This place is falling apart."

"It's old. You have to be amazed at how well it's held up after hundreds of years." Ricochet commented quietly from her position.

"Doesn't mean it isn't falling apart." Shawn replied as he ducked his head.

Ricochet lowered her head past the dip Shawn had just passed. "Still is an interesting part of Italian history."

Shawn nodded. "Oh, no doubt."

"Guys," Trevor interrupted. "Stay hush. I swear I keep hearing voices."

They all paused again and readjusted their guns and listened in. Once it fell silent between them, it was merely a repeat of last time. Trevor shook his head with annoyance before returning to his guiding through the tunnels.

After ten minutes had passed, the group was starting to feel the toll the narrow tunnels were taking on their bodies. They'd be stiff in the morning.

Soap grunted with mild irritation as he had to lower his head even more. "I don't know about you all. But this is definitely not an almost 2 meter clearance."

Shawn immediately agreed. "No way in hell. It's starting to smell weird too."

"Just mud and eroding rock." Trevor was quick to comment.

The ground below them suddenly felt odd, as if it had shifted. Each person ignored it, assuming it was all apart of their minds as it continued to play tricks on them. Several times, they each had sworn they had seen a distant shadow or heard a faint voice. It was a spooky space to be venturing in. Then Trevor felt as if his foot had slightly sunk as he continued with his steps. Brushing it off, he pressed forward. As Shawn took a step down, the ground gave in a little bit, enough to make him turn his head to look down at it; but he kept his pace.

Ricochet saw his random curious stare and wondered what was wrong. "What was that about?"

Shawn shrugged. "Don't know."

She watched him as he turned his head back in wonderment. Once her foot went down, the ground sagged in causing her footing to tetter. Soap saw her sudden change in movements and immediately wondered what had happened.

Then his foot went down, and with his added weight the ground below them capsized and gave in. Ricochet was in mid step and emitted a quick scream as she plummeted forward. The ground below her feet disappeared as Soap fell forward with her. Quickly panicking, Soap let go of his gun to snag the back of her vest in his strong hand; using his free hand, his fingers managed to grasp a wooden beam that had appeared before their faces as they plunged through the ground. Dirt and small rocks fell onto their heads as the debris drifted into the dark hole below them and splashed into a pool of water. The two were now dangling freely as Ricochet panted and stared down at her feet. She swallowed hard and peered up, only to see the light from the opening they had created and Soap's silhouette.

"What the fuck!" Shawn shouted as he ran to the side of the newly formed hole to look over. He spotted the two hanging by a wooden beam that was emitting a faint stressed sound. Soap was fast enough to have grabbed Ricochet's vest as she dropped, but he lost his gun in the process.

Trevor joined Shawn's side and flashed his light down. "How the hell-hang on guys."

Shawn looked to Trevor. "We have nothing to get them up with! This wasn't supposed to be a climbing mission!"

"Calm down, we'll figure something out." Trevor leaned over and reached as far down as he could, he still had another foot to go, and he could feel the ground weakening beneath him as more structure crumbled slightly.

Soap's eyes flashed up towards them as he narrowed them at the sight of the light in his face. He quickly looked down to the dangling Ricochet who peered up to meet his stare with worried eyes.

"Ricochet. Try to climb up me. Reach for Trevor." Soap ordered calmly. She nodded and fumbled with her ACR. Her shoulders were raised by the vest that was now holding her in place. Turning as much as she could, her hands found his thigh. "Let me know when you have a strong hold."

She nodded swiftly and strengthened her grip and wrapped her legs around his shins. "Ok, I'm good."

He slowly released her vest and brought his hand up to hang onto the beam and release some of the tension on his right shoulder that had been strong enough to catch both of their weight. Heaving a sigh, she inched up his body as if he were a rope from gym class. Trevor could feel the ground give again as it began to sink, causing more debris to fall atop Ricochet and Soap's heads. They both lowered their faces as the dirt came for them.

Soap could feel the wood weakening in his grip. "Hurry up, lass. This thing won't hold for much longer."

She nodded in response, and reached up. With the light in her eye, her vision was blurred. Unaware of where her hand would end up, it found a solid spot against his crotch. He emitted a quick grunt and a flinch as she reeled back.

"I'm so sorry." She immediately apologized.

Soap shook his head. "Just climb."

Ignoring the potentially awkward position, she scaled up him and reached up for Trevor's hand, but before her arm could completely outstretch, the beam loosened and split. Both of their eyes widened as Soap pulled an arm back to place a wide-palmed hand against her rear to send her flying up towards Trevor. But his leverage disappeared with the splitting of the beam. They both plummeted and dropped with a portion of the beam and some more stone that caved in with them.

"Step back!" Trevor shouted as he pulled Shawn and himself backwards and away from the sinking ground.

"Fuck!" Shawn yelled with stress.

Soap and Ricochet dropped an easy four meters before they went splashing in a deep pool of water. It was like splashing into a well; the water was cold and chilling as it encompassed their bodies and swarmed around them. Ricochet went in first as the beam followed in shortly behind. Soap straightened his body out and relaxed as he approached the water's surface. Once his body submerged, water spouted upward from the sheer force of the fall. Dirt, mud, and rock continued to sprinkle down at them as Shawn hollered down into the darkness.

"Rico! Soap! Are you alright?" Shawn shined his light down and was met with the distant image of shimmering water.

Soap brought himself out of the water and shaked his head, sending water flying. He rubbed his nose and peered up quickly towards the light, but before he could answer he looked around for the blonde-haired girl.

"Rico?" His voice asked deeply. Looking around, he spotted the light from her vest under the water several feet away. Rushing over, he hastily dove under and saw that the wooden beam had found a cozy spot against her leg. Her hands pushed against it but couldn't find the leverage. His large hands landed on the side and threw it up from her. He grasped her wrist and pulled her up. They surfaced as Ricochet released a gasp for air. She blinked with wet eyelashes and immediately peered up towards the hole they had fallen through.

She looked back towards Soap's profile. "Shit. What the hell?"

He shook his head and waved at Shawn. "We're fine."

"Thank, God." Shawn muttered with relief.

"Yeah, that's great and all, but now we got to figure a way to get you two out. What have you two fallen in?" Trevor asked with a hint of tension.

They both looked around at their surroundings. The room was larger in comparison to the tunnels, in fact, it made the tunnels look suitable for ants. The old stone walls curved around them, similar to that of a rotunda, and one lone entrance sat perpendicular to them. The opening was similar to that of the tunnels. Their eyes ran over everything that they could make out. There appeared to be ancient coffins that set inside wide openings in the walls. She blinked at them then looked back up.

"I-I think we're in some kind of under region. Did Talon or anyone mention that?" She questioned; her voice echoing off of the water and walls.

"No, they didn't." Trevor said down at them.

"Shite." Soap began feeling through the water. "I have to find my gun I dropped." He abruptly went under the water and came back up shortly with his ACR in hand. His eyes found her. "We have to get out of this water. It's cold." Making his way for the rise in the floor where dry land lingered, she followed his movements. Her teeth chattered momentarily after completely pulling themselves from the dark, mirror-like surface of the water. Their eyes were compelled to study the new space they found themselves in.

She suddenly lowered her voice. "Soap, I think these are catacombs." Her blue-green eyes ran over the coffins.

He nodded in agreement. "Looks that way. These types of historical architecture generally housed the dead as well. Guess we found the hideout."

Shawn looked to Trevor. "What do we do?"

Trevor had to cross his arms. "There's obviously a way down there."

"Yeah...this hole."

"No, there's an entrance somewhere. There's access to that lower level." Trevor stepped forward. "Soap."

Soap's attention shot up towards the noise.

"These under regions typically follow the same blueprints of the top levels. If we're lucky, your map should match the level you're now on."

Soap looked to his wrist and sighed with relief to see that the piece of equipment was high enough quality to be waterproofed. He pulled up the map and blinked at the screen. Lowering his wrist, he exhaled through his nose. "This is a major set back."

Trevor sat in silence for a moment. "I know. But we have to reunite with you two. Find your way through. Let's hope we don't lose a radio signal with each other. Good luck, guys."

They could hear Trevor and Shawn hesitate before steadily continuing their journey. Soap and Ricochet both looked at each other. Pulling his attention away from her face, he analyzed his now soaked ACR. "We shouldn't fire these for awhile. I'm sure they're fine, but I don't want to give the guns any reason to jam." He threw it over his shoulder and nodded in her direction. "Let's hope we don't need them for any reason down here."

She looked over his shoulder and found the only exit. It was like staring into a black hole. It was darkest space she had ever stood in. It smelled of musk and dank air; dust danced around in the little light that emitted from the source on their vests. Soap rose a flashlight and brought up a knife with it. He shot the ray of light into the opening. The beam of light appeared almost as if it hit a wall of darkness.

"Odd isn't it?" She stated quietly, but the way it echoed increased its volume. He looked at her in the corner of his vision. "The light. It just smacks dead and stops right there. It's eerie."

His eyes landed on the open threshold. "Looks like we're about to enter a horror film." He took a large step forward and motioned for her. Following his lead, she passed up the threshold where they found themselves standing in a new set of tunnels. These set of tunnels were oddly taller than the ones from before. They had more clearance. Soap had another inch before his head touched, but at least this way, he could loosen his shoulders and neck and not be so crunched up.

"Strange how the lowest level has higher ceilings." He commented flatly as he kept his eyes locked onto the narrow space before him.

"It's just how they honored the dead, I suppose." Ricochet replied with her soft voice as she spotted rats scurry by. "Wait, the rats."

He craned his neck and looked back at her before following her light to where she aimed it. Seeing the rats crawl away with panic, he wondered what she was getting at. He assumed she was disgusted by them, which was actually a misunderstanding.

She pointed. "They obviously know the way in and out. So that's promising. Using the map and the rats, we should be able to find an exit."

He nodded in understanding, realizing the valid point. They crept along at a decent pace, unable to resist the urge to analyze their surroundings. The amount of coffins had increased and some had even been pried open; perhaps grave diggers. An occasional skeletal arm would hang over loosely from the opened rim.

"We really did find ourselves in a horror film. This is like nothing I've ever seen." She stared at the walls and caskets with awe.

He kept waiting for her to get scared, but she was oddly enjoying it. "Looks like we're walking with the dead." Soap commented with his usual thick tone.

"This is pretty awesome." Her eyes were wide. "It's a shame someone had to come and defile their slumber though."

The radio in their ears hummed. "Can we get an update on your location. Over." It was Trevor.

"We're traveling along the designated pathway. So far, so good. Heading north. Over." Soap responded.

"Copy that."

Soap looked to Ricochet, where she followed behind but kept her distance. Her skin had a faint blue glow from the light that shined from her flashlight and light on her vest. He wasn't much of a talker, and didn't have any way to keep the conversation active. He figured there was no need, but the spooky silence that filled the underbellies of the tunnels was unsettling.

Then something caught his eye off in the distance; a movement, down off in the east end of the tunnels that suddenly came to a four way intersection of sorts. He raised his flashlight and kept the knife parallel to the barrel. He narrowed his eyes with a mixture of curiosity and concern. The movement was far too big to be a rat.

She saw his change in mannerisms and followed his light. "What's wrong?"

He took a second to ponder as his eyes watched and waited for more movement that he swore he saw. "Certain I saw something."

"Oh?" She took a step forward, raising her knife and flashlight as well. "Rats?"

He shook his head. "Too big."

She shifted her weight and widened her stance to match the width of her shoulders. "Like the shadows above us?"

He quickly glanced at her. "You saw those too?"

"Yeah, I just figured it was our own shadows from the different light sources."

"But they were different." He replied deeply, then swiftly looked ahead as he heard movement. He threw his fist up and then placed a single finger against his lips before repositioning his knife. His hand motioned for her to get into formation. His voice sounded quietly, it was near inaudible with the combination of his deep voice and the low volume. "There's something down here. Watch our 6."

Inching his way forward, his grip strengthened around the hilt of the combat knife; Ricochet remaining a decent distance away, but staying mindful to their surroundings. Soap then caught sight of a heel disappearing around the corner. He lowered his brow and quickened his pace; though his feet moved fast they maintained a quiet step. His back found the wall right before spinning around to face the source of the foot. All he was met with was disappointment and uncertainty, for there was nothing there.

"The fuck-" He murmured before slowly raising the knife. He turned his body towards Ricochet who watched him with wide eyes. His mouth opened to speak, but was interrupted by a figure charging him. She uttered a quick gasp as Soap quickly grappled with the figure. Getting the upper hand in the matter of a second, Soap sent the figure forward and followed through by jabbing the knife into its throat. Blood gushed out and was accompanied with thick gargling. The figure fell to its knees before falling flat. Ricochet and Soap shot their lights in the now dead figure's direction. It was a man. Crazed. Lost? They weren't sure. The beanie that sat atop his head hid his hair and ears.

Their eyes quickly met. "What the hell? What's he doing down here?" Her voice was laced with bewilderment. Soap kneeled himself by the man's side and rolled his weight over revealing his glassy, lifeless stare. He stared into the dead man's face and furrowed his brow.

"He's dirty. I don't think he's with the gang." Soap felt the man's pockets, only to find them empty. "Maybe homeless."

"That's more promising news. Well, the fact that he knew of a way in and out-not that you just killed a homeless man."

He rose and towered over her. She was tall, but Soap made a lot of people look short. "Hm. Well, it's unfortunate we had to startle him enough to provoke him to attack me. Otherwise we could have gotten directions-" His eyes suddenly caught a light off in the distance. "See that? The warm light?"

She leaned her weight to look passed Soap's mass where she immediately saw a distant light source. Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth. "What is that?"

He shook his head. "No clue, let's go find out." They both ventured down the east tunnel. As they quickened their pace, their skin on their faces felt a cool breeze picking up. Both figured they were nearing an opening.

They broke into a clearing and spacious room, similar to that of the one they plummeted in, as their eyes caught a glimpse of a small, burning fire. Suddenly, a few, worried faces looked in their direction. Soap and Ricochet could only stare dumbfounded. It appeared to be a group of a few homeless men and women who had taken shelter in the tunnels. They clearly had found a way in. Seeing the two soldiers geared up for a fight, the ones sitting stood to take several steps back.

Ricochet leaned in closer to Soap to speak quietly. "They know of an exit. Know Italian?"

Soap shook his head and decided to try English first. "Know a way out?"

As expected, they only stared with bewilderment and fear. Soap scratched his head and sighed.

"Spanish may work." Ricochet stated softly. She raised her head to look at all of them. Her Spanish wasn't the best. "Conozca...una salida?"

The people still stared with wide-eyed expressions, unsure of how to react. Soap stepped forward to snap them out of their daze. He used some of his Portugueses experience. His voice came out deep and demanding. "Precisamos encontrar uma saída. Mostra-nos."

Immediately, they looked as if they stirred from their confusion as one pointed down towards the tunnel to their right, which was Soap and Ricochet's left. Soap nodded in their direction and moved for the designated tunnel. Ricochet followed after him as she signaled for Trevor and Shawn.

"Trevor, Shawn. I think we found a way out. It may lead to outside because there's a growing breeze in here, but I believe we're heading for the exit leading to the first level. Over."

There was a very short moment of silence before Trevor's voice sounded. "Good. What's your location on the map? We're heading into the northern wing. Warehouse should be ten minutes away. Over."

"Heading north as well. Over."

Trevor emitted a sigh. "That's good. Less backtracking. If we're lucky we'll all bump into each other. Over."

Soap and Ricochet quickened their pace, leaving the homeless behind; Soap dwelled momentarily on the fact that he had just murdered one of their friends, but justified it with self-defense. It wasn't the best of times to get caught up on potentially petty things.

Eventually, they found a set of dark, narrow stairs that climbed their way up a slope. Ducking, they hopped up the steps and reached the top. They found themselves standing in the cramped tunnels from before. Peering down both sets of tunnels, their minds wandered.

"Made it back to the first level. Over." Soap said.

"Good. Just head for the warehouse. We're getting close. So we'll just wait here for you. Over." Trevor was quick to respond.

"Copy that." Soap reached for his ACR. "Guns should be safe to use. Guess we'll still have to find out. Check the suppressor real quick."

They both unscrewed their suppressors to dry off what dampness was left and to allow it to air out. Soap slid it into a vest pocket before raising the gun back up. "Reattach it later. Let's move." He returned to leading the way as she followed shortly behind.

"Let's hope we don't cave in through the ground again." She commented flatly.

Soap agreed with a head nod. She watched him closely for a moment. He was a different man during a mission. He was quiet to start with, but he became a different kind of reserved in terms of business. His quiet self outside of work was shyness, but during a mission it was focus and concentration.

After sometime, they met up with Trevor and Shawn who stood underneath what appeared to be a metal trapdoor. The tunnels had widened and increased in height, indicating recent and modern tampering. Ricochet and Soap stepped over two bodies which had bullet wounds on their faces and bodies.

Seeing their stares, Shawn immediately gestured. "Those two fucks were standing down here."

Ricochet and Soap's eyes moved up towards him. "We ran into some homeless people down in the lower level. So they were probably standing guard." Ricochet stated.

On cue, Soap remembered their suppressors. He pointed towards Ricochet who spotted his gesture. "Suppressors."

"Right." She responded as their screwed their attachments back onto the barrels of their weapons.

Trevor looked up towards the trapdoor. "So, who first?"

Soap stepped up. "I'll go."

"Look at that. Someone taking initiative." Shawn said jokingly as Soap passed.

Soap smiled but it was hidden in the shadows. His hand found the ladder. "It's about time someone does."

"To avoid tension, I'm just going to say you were joking." Shawn replied as he waited for Soap to climb up.

Soap's hand found the door, but it didn't budge. He outstretched an arm and pointed towards the two deceased men, whose blood trailed down the incline. "It's locked. See if one of them has a key of sorts."

Ricochet and Trevor instantly began looking through their pockets. Ricochet found a key fob. "This may be it." She tossed it at him.

His large palm caught it as he brought it up to the small magnet located on the left side of the door. A mechanical click emitted as Soap slowly pushed open the door. His head went up first and was followed shortly after by his ACR's barrel. He spotted one man sitting in a chair, with his back facing him. The man's feet were propped up as cigarette smoke hovered in the air.

The man lowered his feet from the desk and began to turn his chair around. He sighed, "Angelo, il vostro turno non è ancora finita. Tornare laggiù-" a bullet pierced him in between the eyes. His body went limp as it sank into the chair. Peering around to determine that the room was clear, Soap climbed up and motioned for them to follow. The four of them were all now in the small space together. Few windows ran along the frontside and met up with a closed door.

Trevor began to whisper. "Remember. We have to clear the warehouse of any thugs. Move fast, stay low, and take any possible shot. We'll spread out to cover as much ground. Soap, come with me, we'll cover the west end. Rico, Shawn, you two make your way up the east end. We'll meet up with you on the far side. Good?"

Everyone nodded, signaling their readiness. Shawn and Ricochet crept along the wall as Soap and Trevor journeyed across the floor and towards the far wall. Two assembly lines ran up the center, giant industrial lights lit up the grey space, and several towering crates provided them with cover.

"Check corners." Soap's deep voice sounded in their ears.

Shawn pointed up where Ricochet followed his gesture. "Up there. Looks like an office area. We can probably find all of the information we need on sellers up there. Let's head towards those stairs."

"Right," she responded lowly.

Trevor and Soap finally reached their end of the warehouse; luckily for them, it was a medium sized warehouse and not some giant factory of sorts. A man stepped out from in between two sets of crates, clipboard in hand. Soap shot him dead. The man fell back against the crates, stirring them slightly. As the four of them inched along, they silently took out more of the thugs as they passed them up.

Suddenly, a noise drew their attention up towards the office windows from their position on the first level. A man was shouting from one of the windows pointing out. The four of them quickly raised up their weapons but the man ducked down as bullets whipped past and showered glass down onto his back and head. What the four of them didn't realize was that two other men were inside. One rose up, AK-16 in hand, and began sending a barrage of bullets in Shawn and Ricochet's direction. Shawn quickly twisted himself behind a large crate as Ricochet took shelter behind a tall structural column.

"Taking fire! Taking fire!" Shawn shouted, as Soap and Trevor placed themselves behind cover and readied themselves to take aim. "Tango on the stair landing!"

Trevor spun out from behind his cover and took aim at the one on the landing, only in time to have to reel back in as bullets pelted the side of his crate.

"Shit." He cursed.

Soap tried to peep out to get a look at their new found challenge. One man had begun making his way down the stairs, gun raised, the other two had set up on the ledge of the busted out windows. "Three tangos! One on the stairs, two in the windows at our 2 o'clock!" Soap's voice carried and bellowed off of the metal interior.

"Moving up!" Shawn slinked around his crate and dashed his way up to the next aisle, sliding to get behind the next set of crates. His movement drew some of their attentions. "Out in the open!"

Ricochet turned to take aim at the man who reached the bottom of the steps. Taking several muffled shots, three bullets found their way into his abdomen and chest. "Tango down!"

Shawn pulled himself over the side, and aimed down his sights at the two men in the window. As he blasted off several shots, the men ducked down to avoid the fire fight. "Fucking bastards. Moving up!" He ran out from cover and quickly found a safe spot behind the next set of crates, slowly narrowing in on the stairs. During this time, Soap and Trevor had inched their way forward, avoiding detection as Shawn and Ricochet's movements drew in the enemies' sights. The two of them mounted up against lower leveled crates and waited for one of the tangos' heads to emerge.

"Watch the left, I'll get the right." Soap ordered from his position. Trevor nodded with agreement as the professional, battle chemistry between them strengthened.

One head went up, Trevor took aim, removing part of the man's scalp. The man screamed and yelped as he went down. They could hear the cursing from the one remaining man.

"Good kill." Soap commented as he tightened his grip around the trigger and stock. His eye caught movement by the stairs; it was Shawn. He crept up silently with his gun raised.

"Watch the windows." Shawn's voice murmured softly through their radios. All went still as Shawn steadily climbed the steps, gun raised. His movements were agile and quiet. As he drew near the landing, more shots were fired in his direction; bullets pinging and sparking off of the metal door frame and threshold. He quickly lowered and took cover on the landing next to the jarred open door.

Everyone's eyes were on the windows, as they waited anxiously for any movement. But the man lay on the ground determined to remain in his spot. Shawn exhaled heavily as he reached for a flashbang.

"Shawn, you're our paramedic. Don't go getting injured up there." Trevor stated flatly over the radio.

"Flashbanging." He quickly tossed the flashbang through the door where the screech and bright flash of light emitted. The man cursed and screamed as he emptied his magazine towards the door. Shawn went prone as bullets began to pierce through the sheet metal. Then the gun fell quiet and only gave off the faint sound of a clicking trigger. Shawn quickly rose, took aim, and blasted five rounds into the man, leaving him sprawled out and bleeding onto the floor.

Shawn sighed and brought his radio up. "Clear." He lowered his gun and arms to his sides. Soap, Trevor, and Ricochet emerged from their positions and headed for the stairs. "Call in Talon." Shawn said with mild relief flowing through his words.

They signaled for Talon, and afterwards, Shawn and Ricochet retrieved any information they could from the computers and filing cabinets. Soap and Trevor planted charges on structural supports and the propane tanks which fueled the warehouse a portion of its power.

"This warehouse is going to light up the night sky." Trevor stated as he sealed a charge against the side of a column.

"Got to make sure we greatly distance ourselves." Soap replied with a stoic expression.

Eventually, as the charges were being finished and Shawn and Ricochet grabbed up what they could, Talon had converged onto the warehouse. The few members loaded their trucks with what they could manage as another set of drivers waved for Darkhorse to follow.

"Let's get you all back to the LZ. Charges placed?" The Talon member inquired with narrowed eyes.

Trevor nodded. "Affirmative."

"Good," the man rounded on his heels. "Let's roll." He then led them outside where they filed inside the back of a truck and set off for the hills where the LZ was located. Drug cartel was loaded up, and once a safe distance became apparent, the charges were set off and the warehouse burst into flames, sending a fireball into the skyline and a heat wave to blast through the surrounding area. The four team members nodded with approval with just their eyes alone, and felt satisfied with their accomplishments.

"Well done. When we get back, we're going to be greeted with several contracts." Trevor interrupted the silence and buzzing of the engine.

"Staying busy." Shawn replied, eyes elsewhere.

Trevor nodded smoothly as the truck bumped along.

Once they reached the designated LZ several klicks away, they were lifted off and carried back to their base in Croatia.

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Looks like I'm getting quite the traffic for the story. Thanks for reading and staying up! If you're enjoying the story, reviews, favorites, and followers are always appreciated.


	10. Contracts and Synergy

Hey, everyone! I'd like to take just a quick moment to thank everyone for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. Every bit counts, and I love seeing that people are enjoying the story. We'll start to see more one on one interactions starting in this chapter, I think it's important to establish personalities and chemistry with characters, because hey, we all like to pick a favorite character, right? Who knows, maybe you all will end up picking a favorite that isn't Soap or Price, even though those two are awesome. Also, we'll start seeing more of Soap's colors coming out (he's a shy type), and Price is a bit more stoic, so good ole' Price will still be acting like a grumpy, old man. But hopefully I can start bringing out his true colors as well (don't worry, he remains awesome). Thanks, again!

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Chapter 9 - Contracts and Synergy

"By now, you've come to the understanding of you one day replacing Lemann as our commander. Once he-well, leaves our presence we'll need a new commander." Samson watched Price from over a desk. The room was lit with warm light and the ticking of a clock produced a steady and consistent sound.

Price nodded. "Assuming he actually kicks the bucket."

"It's gotten worse." Samson's voice lowered with contempt.

Their eyes met as Price rubbed his chin. "We don't hear from him much anymore."

"All he deals with is approving contracts before we get them. Then sends them our way. Both you and I temporary have taken on the tasks of assigning members to specific contracts and jobs. So in retrospect, we're running the crew right now."

Price's eyes shined with ambition. "What better way to learn the ins-and-outs than through the art of hands-on experience."

Samson nodded slowly. "So my next point is, have you been reading up on our members? Better understanding their talents and assets? I want you to grasp how our field members operate."

Price sat up straight and rested his back against the wooden chair. "I have."

"Good. Want to recap?"

"Sure."

"Let's start with my brothers. What was our regiment?"

"Trevor, Shawn, and yourself were members of the 75th Ranger Regiment. Trevor and you were light infantry and Shawn was one of the paramedics to the unit."

"Right. What else?" Samson inquired with warming eyes.

Price ran his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips. "You three were part of a smaller group deployed over to Iraq in response to the war on terror in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. That began in 2003, but you and your two brothers were sent over in 2013."

"You have quite the retention. What about Reggie?"

"He was a naval aviator to a C-130 during the war."

Samson flashed a faint, impressed smile. "Let's move on to our female soldiers. You seem a bit more hesitant with them around. Why's that?"

"Distractions."

"How so?"

Price shifted in his seat and sighed. "Let me just paint out a quick example. I'll use Soap, even though I'm not personally worried about him getting side-tracked, being in the S.A.S. meant zero female interactions. We were an elite division. No women around. So in terms of performance, Soap doesn't quite understand how, let's say, someone like Ricochet operates."

Samson lowered his brow. "Don't you think that's a little bit of an unfair assumption? Not only are you potentially targeting Rico's skills as a soldier, but it sounds like you're doubting Soap's ability to focus."

Price shook his head. "No. I don't mean anything insulting by it. I was just using an example. Apparently it wasn't the best of choices."

"Your views on Shorty?"

"She's a pilot. Nothing more. Nothing less."

Samson slowly nodded. "It's about more than outside appearances, old man. Look at Shawn, he's the smallest of all of our male soldiers. Yet he's fantastic at what he specializes in."

"I'm a grumpy, old man stuck in his ways. Let's say I'm still adapting."

"All I ask is that you give them a chance to prove themselves. They're like my sisters at this point. Fine, young soldiers." Samson spoke firmly.

"We'll see. I need more opportunities to see them in action."

"Fair enough. Tell me about them. Let's start with Ricochet."

"Real name is Bailey Weiss. Went to CPEC for counter-sniping in the Air Force. Successfully graduated and managed to be selected to join a unit that had joint-operated with several Marine Corp. sniper platoons. Ranked second in her counter-sniping unit. Marksman."

"I may have you take on a contract with her. Be her spotter. See what she's capable of." Samson laced his fingers together before him.

"Right."

"Moving on to Shorty."

"Former officer to the United States Air Force. Came from the 23rd Flying Training Squadron as an undergraduate. Her real name is Kiona Rivers." Price replied smoothly as he watched Samson closely.

Samson sat in a brief silence before continuing. "We were all apart of the war. We've all seen our fair share of violence. It's easy to just see each other as robots, but we're all still human. So, let's get a bit into our personal lives. Where are my brothers and I from?"

"Illinois. Grew up south of Chicago."

Samson nodded with approval. "Shorty?"

"Horse farm. Western border in New Mexico."

"And Ricochet?"

Price blinked at the desk before looking back up to met Samson's eyes. "South Carolina. Grew up around the Bluffton area."

"Very good. How about you and Soap? Tell me a bit more about yourselves."

"Nothing exciting."

Samson shrugged lightly. "Matter of opinion."

"Me personal, grew up in the slums of London. Did a lot of hopping around. As for Soap, he grew up in Whitebridge with his two siblings and single mother."

Samson flashed a small smile. "We all have our stories. I think it's important to reflect on it from time to time. To remind ourselves that we grew up just like anyone else in the general population."

"We still all have our differences."

"No doubt. We've all seen our hardships. And not just in the military and during the war." Samson paused to watch Price grow gradually uninterested in the newly found topic. He read it quickly and was ready to move on to more important matters. "Ready to get into the contracts?"

Price nodded.

"Alright, let's go find the team."

It was lunch time. The Darkhorse members were spread out while they ate their meals. Some ate outside, taking joy in the presence of the cool weather and warming sun, while the remaining were enjoying their meals inside. Having spent most of their time together, all of the field members were sitting at a long, folding table, carrying on simple conversation. Tatiana had decided to sit with them all to hear of their progress with the drug lord.

Price and Samson walked up, their movements immediately grabbing the attention of the seated members. Price tossed a manila folder onto the table out in front of them. Their eyes all landed on the off-white folder, which contained several important documentations. Everyone stared and blinked in its direction.

"Let me guess. An ass ton of contracts?" Trevor inquired, eyes flashing up towards Samson.

"Yep." He replied.

Price rubbed his chin. "Staying busy. Only a few are significantly important. Others are petty. Leaning away from the Vasquez ordeal until we get some better leads. Don't want to stir the pot up too much."

"Right. So boundaries?" Shawn commented after taking a sip of water.

In unison, Samson and Price nodded. Samson's pointer finger suddenly landed onto the folder. "We have three that are probably the most prominent of the 12 we just received. Two of the three need to get done as soon as possible, and the other one is a date that is occurring in three weeks. Politician has been receiving death threats. She's requesting some 'body guards'. Paying a decent lump sum. But I digress," Samson looked up towards Trevor and Soap who sat by each other. Soap watched his food but felt the stare, causing his eyes to peer up. "Got a mountain climbing one coming up."

Trevor swallowed his food and lowered his fork. "Oh, yeah?"

Samson nodded. "Yes. Ismoil Somoni Peak, Tajikistan. Hot near the base, freezing near the top. Radio tower just got put up near the peak, owned by the Taliban. Some of those terrorists have been flooding over the border to set up safehouses. Near the smaller inclines, there's a few small roads that make the climb, but those eventually come to an end. That's when you'll need your climbing gear. Highest peak is roughly 7500m above sea level. Luckily for you three, the radio tower is only located at the 6000m mark."

"Three of us?" Trevor asked.

"You, Soap, and Shawn." Price stated.

Immediately, the three men who had been called out gave each other a quick look.

"You three are scaling the mountain side to reach that tower and set charges onto the supports. They've been using it to send out subtle frequencies to each other. It needs to come down." Samson added in.

"Yeah, so...me and Trevor haven't necessarily have had our fair share of mountain-climbing experiences." Shawn commented with wide eyes.

"Time to learn." Price stated flatly. "Soap can show you the ropes. All you need is balance, full-body strength, and a resistance to negative temperatures."

"Sounds like a grand time." Trevor murmured through his food.

"Looks like I know what we're doing after lunch." Soap sounded as he leaned back and stretched.

"Right. And then the second most important task. Ricochet," as Price said her name, she looked up at him. "Sniping mission. Assassinating a leader to one of the smaller terrorist groups in Afghanistan."

She nodded at him. "Oh, yeah?"

Samson jutted a thumb in Price's direction. "He's spotting you."

Her tongue felt around her mouth as she pondered. Her eyes locked onto Price's stern stare. "When we leaving?"

"Five days." Price answered.

"Same time as you three," Samson gestured towards Soap, Trevor, and Shawn who were sitting comfortably near the end of the table. "So, that's what is coming up for us this week. Shorty, you're transporting Price and Rico. Reggie, you and Buzzkill will drop Trevor, Shawn, and Soap off with the C-130. Looks like you all got some skydiving heading your way as well."

"Well, this just keeps getting more and more intense." Shawn said as he poked at his lunch.

"Start preparing. You're all going to need it." Samson straightened his posture and headed for the door.

Price turned to Soap where their eyes immediately met. "Start setting up a training schedule for Trevor and Shawn."

"Right." Soap immediately pushed his chair out and brought himself up. "I'll get on it. I'll come find you two when I have everything planned out for us. I have something in mind. Something more hands-on."

"Oh?" Shawn raised his eyebrows.

Soap shot him a small smile. "Aye. Get your climbing gear ready."

Trevor and Shawn watched him as he grabbed up his tray and headed for the back of the cafeteria. The two brothers shot each other a glance.

"Excited?" Trevor asked.

"It's been years since I've climbed something other than a wall or building." Shawn commented, taking a sip from his glass.

Trevor nodded slowly before looking down to finish his food. By this point, Soap walked past them again and pointed a stiff finger in their directions. "Meet me outside the hangar in 30 minutes."

"Copy that." Trevor murmured.

Soap headed for his room once outside and snatched up some papers and his pen. He took some quick notes before rounding on his heels to head for the exit. Leaving the sleep corridors and returning to the outside world, he caught Samson walking towards the office. Soap quickly grabbed his attention.

"Samson. I have a favor to ask." Soap's voice carried and bounced off of the barracks.

Samson came to a stop to turn and face the tall man. He lowered his brow. "What can I do for you?"

Once Soap neared, he peered back down at his sheet of paper which now bore his all caps handwriting. "Mind if I borrow one of the Jeeps today?"

Their eyes met as Samson rolled an imaginary object around in his mouth. "I don't see a problem with that. What do you need it for?"

Soap raised his chin and stared off towards the peaks and crannies of the nearby Alps. "I'd like to take your brothers over to the mountain range. Get some practice in. Scaling rock isn't much too different than scaling a sheet of ice. The difference is the equipment used."

Samson bobbed his head steadily as his hands found his pockets. "Sure. Let Tatiana know you're taking the Wrangler up there. Give her a time you'll be back. She'll probably make you sign it out. She likes to stay organized like that. Making sure she has all of the vehicles in check."

"Sounds simple enough."

"What do you have in mind?"

Soap handed him the paper he had scribbled on. Despite the obvious signs of a quick hand, an hour-by-hour daily schedule had been laid out. Soap was a man who enjoyed keeping his things and mind organized, and his routine on schedule. Samson had to smile at it.

"Heading out at 1300 hours. Estimated time of arrival is 1340 hours. Showing Shawn and Trevor the equipment. By 1400 hours you'll begin showing them how to secure the ropes and harnesses. Following up with that, you'll demonstrate proper wedge and nut placement…" Samson read off the sheet then peered up at Soap who stared down at him with concentrated, grey eyes. "I admire your composition."

"Yeah, I'm probably a bit of a freak about it."

Samson shrugged and shook his head. "Nothing wrong with your tactics. I'd get heading over to the hangar now, though. I know Delroy and Tobias were heading down to Gracac to meet up with some Talon members. Some supplies are coming in today. Although, I'm sure they'll just take the 2500 instead of one of the Wranglers."

Soap nodded. "Right. Thanks," he replied before looking up towards the hangar and ambling in its direction. His legs moved him quickly across the dirt path and eventually onto the pavement. From the opened garage doors of the hangar, he could hear a growing bustle as laughter erupted. Moving through the large opening, his eyes landed onto Shorty's Iroquois which was currently covered in Christmas lights.

"Who has time to do these things?" She gestured towards the helicopter.

Tatiana snickered as Reggie slowly looked the chopper over. "People who don't get much sleep."

A small smirk pulled acrossed Soap's face as he met an amused stare from Shawn and Trevor. The three of them knew something that no one else did. Little did Shorty know, that the three of the seemingly permanently serious soldiers were the culprits. Soap approached the Iroquois and faked an expression of disbelief.

"Who would do such a thing?" He looked up at the rotors.

Shorty spun on her heels and glared at him. "A fucking bastard, that's who."

"Or someone with amazing, creative spirit." Shawn commented from his position near Trevor.

Shorty pointed at him. "It was probably you and your retard brother."

Trevor scoffed. "I am not retarded."

She let out an exasperated sigh. "I meant the notorious Reggie. The one who roams aimlessly around base."

Reggie shook his head and drank from his soda can. "Not me."

"My ass." She rolled her eyes.

"I do not appreciate my intelligence getting insulted."

"Reggie clearly is the one who did it. Look at his guilty expression." Soap commented flatly.

"His efforts of covering his ass are failing." Trevor murmured.

Shawn hid a smile as Trevor maintained a blank expression. Reggie threw his hands into the air.

"This is baloney! I did not do this last night."

"You weren't in our room last night." Shawn stated as his eyes found the side of Reggie's face.

"I was too."

Shawn shook his head. "Nope."

"Yeah, I get it, I do stupid shit a lot. But this is the one thing I did not partake in. Probably Shawn and Tatiana."

Shorty crossed her arms. "You're looking mighty incriminating."

Reggie pointed towards Shawn with a swift jut of the arm. "Shawn was NOT in his room last night. I was in bed by 2200 hours!"

"Lies." Shawn said with lowered brows.

"That's funny. Because I got up last night to get a drink from the kitchen and you were heading down the hallway towards the outside. Remember? You stopped and conversed with me briefly. Said something about an upcoming scheme." Soap announced as he stared down Reggie.

"You're full of shit! That did not happen last night!" Reggie was growing awed with betrayal.

Shorty stomped over towards Reggie and yanked him down from his seat on one of the commercial shelving. "Get your skinny ass down. You're taking this shit down now."

"No. I'm not. I didn't do it." Reggie replied with mild annoyance.

She stared daggers up at him and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Yes you are. And if you don't I'm going to break into your room and shatter all of your stupid inventions."

"Yes, please! Please do it!" Shawn had to shout with a growing interest.

"This isn't fair. I'm being framed." Reggie said with disbelief.

Trevor patted his arm. "Well, get on that, Reggie. We got some rock climbing to do."

"Right…" Reggie peered over towards the helicopter.

Soap smiled faintly before walking over towards Tatiana. She caught him in her peripherals and looked in his direction. Placing her hands on her hips, she flashed a grin. "How are you doing, doll?"

Soap nodded at her. "I have a request."

"What do you need, hot stuff?"

His eyes flashed with amusement. "I need to borrow a Jeep. Heading towards the Alps to get some rock climbing exercises in. Samson told me to come see you."

She cleaned off a spark plug with a rag held in her hands. Nodding and biting the inside of her cheek, she responded. "You've come to the right place. Keys to the tan one are in the toolbox right over there." She pointed off at the distant object. "One of those is Shorty's. It's the one with a purple peace-sign on it."

Shorty heard her name and 'toolbox', causing her to spin around. "You better not lay a hand on my toolbox, Chin."

He stared at her with a blank expression. "I'll take note." Spinning on his heels, he made his way for the toolbox on the far end. Soap was feeling a bit light-hearted today. After having spent a good portion of the night before covering Shorty's chopper in Christmas lights, he was still stuck in is playful faze. He justified his sneaky teasing techniques by recollecting the amount of times Shorty felt it was necessary to make remarks about his chin and the shape of his face. To this day, he was still unsure as to how it irked her. His eyes found the toolbox with the purple peace-sign on it as he brought himself next to its side. Immediately, he opened the box and began to scan its contents.

He pulled his head up and looked in Shorty and Tatiana's direction, eyes glowing with a brilliant light. "I'm sorry, Tatiana, but I can't find the keys."

All eyes fell on Soap, who stood bent over the toolbox and large hands inside. Tatiana shook her head. "Not that one, sweetie, the other one. Remember? I told you to not touch that one."

Shorty glared from her position by the Iroquois. "Hey, Chin. What the fuck! Hands off! I don't need your large, bear hands getting finger grease on my things."

"Oh?" Soap's eyes found her. He bore a blank expression as he pointed at her toolbox. "So this is yours?"

"Yes." Her hands found her hips.

"Got it." He rose and moved towards the other toolbox.

"Hey, jackass! Close my toolbox."

He paused to look back in her direction. His face was stuck on a deadpan expression but his eyes shined with laughter. "My bad." His feet returned him to Shorty's toolbox where he promptly kicked the toolbox lid shut. A loud metal on metal sound immediately echoed. "There. Crisis averted."

A smile pulled across Tatiana's face as Shorty lowered her brow with irritation. "Don't disrespect my things. You don't see me going around kicking your shit, now do you?"

"You do make rude remarks about my face. That's a pretty disrespectful act."

"Your face is confusing, and you know it. Besides, my argument was about me kicking your shit around. I don't kick your shit, you don't kick mine." She crossed her arms.

He rose his hands calmly out before him, palms facing her. "You're right. How rude of me." He spun on his heels and opened the lid back up, and then proceeded to close it with his hands. "I have redeemed myself."

Her tongue rolled around in her mouth. "Stop touching my stuff."

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Neither one blinking or refusing to break the stare. Finally, he quickly lowered and poked her toolbox before making his way for the other toolbox, which contained the keys to the Jeep. Tatiana had to utter a chuckle as Shorty threw her hands into the air.

"So mature, Chin. I see you, strutting around like you're just so funny." She said with an annoyed tone.

As he looked through Tatiana's toolbox, he had to smile. Eventually, his hands found the keys as he brought himself up to make his way back towards where Tatiana stood, but not before pretending to stumble on Shorty's toolbox. His foot hit it, as it slid loudly across the floor, causing a few heads to look up. "Oops." He murmured.

Shorty immediately stomped over towards her toolbox, punching him on the arm as she passed, and eventually seized up the toolbox. "Can't a person get some respect for her things around here? Fucking dick face."

"You say something, Pear?" He turned to look at her.

She narrowed her eyes angrily at him. "Did you just call me 'Pear'? Like the fruit?"

He nodded. "I figured if we get nicknames based upon our appearances, that calling you 'Pear' fit the shape of your short, disproportional body."

The sound of Reggie's laugh emitted from the opposite end of the hangar as it echoed off the walls. He had quite the maniacal chuckle.

"That's rude." She said, placing her hands back onto her hips.

He shrugged and gave an innocent look. "I thought that's how things went around here. Guess I was wrong?"

"Well, you look like a giant, upside-down triangle."

"Oh, so now we're back to name-calling?"

Her glare continued. "I don't like your antics right now."

"And I don't like your bad attitude." A faint smirk was creeping across his face, only causing her to grow more annoyed.

"I have a great attitude. It's your dumb butt-chin sapping all of the positive energy up in here." She claimed flatly.

Suddenly, Reggie's voice broke into song as he approached to join in on the playful conversing. "Y'all gonna make me lose my mind. Up in here! Up in here!"

"Leave it to Reggie to add something to the conversation. Relevant or not." Shawn commented from his position on a stool.

"Got the keys?" Trevor asked Soap as he approached.

"Aye."

Trevor nodded. "Alright, let's hit the road then."

Tatiana quickly pointed over to the work bench. "Sign the Wrangler out! That's how we operate around here."

"Will do," Soap replied as he found the sign-in sheet and printed his name into an open box. His eyes went up and found Trevor and Shawn. "Let's get the Jeep loaded up and we'll be on our way. Should be back by dinner."

"Oh of course, the Chin wants to be back by dinner time. Don't like missing meals, do we?" Short scoffed.

Soap's grey eyes landed on her. "Feisty today, are we?"

"Go eat a dick." She replied.

"She's holding you touching her toolbox against you. Shouldn't have done that." Trevor calmly stated, as he lit up a cigarette. "Looks like we may be here awhile longer."

"It's about more than touching my shit. He ate my leftovers yesterday." Her glare didn't break from Soap, who was still greatly amused by her irritation. Something about the way she grew annoyed by his teasing reminded him of his sister.

"I did not." He claimed cooly.

"Yes. You did."

He shook his head. "Should have put your name on it."

"I made a big enough portion to serve as an evening snack, and you just swooped in and gobbled it up! Look at you, holding all of that water weight." She looked him up and down. "I hope you enjoyed it, you fat fuck."

He had to laugh at her. Her attempts at insulting him were rather amusing. "It was delicious. Mind having another one ready for me when I get back?"

"So you can shove your fat chin with more food? That's the exact opposite of what you need."

At this point, Reggie had to even utter a chuckle. "Shorty, why are you so mean to, Soap? He's the only one you're mean to."

She peered over at him. "Turns out, leaving a bad first impression isn't the best way to make friends. He was late getting to the dock, he knocked my ass over in the hallway, his face shape is confusing, and now, he eats my food. He shoves MY meals down his fat throat."

"You look like you could use a break from food as well." Soap commented jokingly.

Then she looked sad as she looked over towards a smiling Trevor. "Trevor! Make him stop!"

Trevor puffed on his cigarette. "No can do. You started it."

"This isn't fair!"

Soap looked down at the keys before finding her face again. "Hey, I'll take back what I said about you needing a break from food. That was mean."

Her eyes found his eyes, and saw the genuine apology in them. She huffed. "Whatever."

"Aw, see Shorty, Soap is a good guy. Maybe you just need to get to know him, and you two can end up being best friends." Reggie's smile was wide, and it was a smile Shorty hated. She could see his cunning eyes glimmering mischievously.

"That'll never happen." Shawn commented lowly, eyes running over the environment around him.

"Maybe you two should just fuck and get it over with," Reggie laughed as it immediately caused both Soap and Shorty to grimace.

"Ew. FUCK NO." Shorty shouted with utter disgust.

Soap had to shake his head. "No thanks. Not my type. She's too short and angry."

"Now I'm curious. What is your type?" Reggie leaned forward with a curious stare and raised eyebrows.

Before Soap could respond, Shorty jumped in. "No. We don't need to hear it. No one needs the mental image of the Chin fucking someone."

Soap looked at her and laughed again. She was getting very passionate with her hatred.

"I think Shorty just wouldn't be able to handle the Scottish D." Shawn commented as his eyes flashed over playfully in Shorty's direction, where he was immediately met with a disapproving stare.

"Seriously? The Scottish D? That's where we're going with this now?" Her voice was laced with impatience.

Shawn shrugged. "Who knows, maybe you'll love it."

"Oh my God…"

Reggie giggled. "Once one has the Scottish D, you don't go back. It's the closest equivalent to a black cock, but still remains white."

At this point, Soap had to grow uncomfortable. He could start to feel his cheeks burn. "Alright...that's probably our cue to leave."

"Yes! Leave now! No more cock talk!" Shorty waved at them to move their asses.

Shawn was laughing with amusement as Trevor shook his head.

"The idea of Soap's giant cock is scaring everyone." Reggie wasn't letting up on the commentary. Soap quickly paced past him and towards the Wrangler in attempts to escape the awkward spotlight. Tatiana had to snicker with joy at the imagery of a big and embarrassed Soap striding quickly away with rosey cheeks.

"Not one for the cock compliments, honey?" She said after him.

Without slowing his pace or turning his head to look at them, he swiftly responded. "I prefer to not carry on conversations about my reproductive organs."

"Soap's kryptonite is his own massive cock." Reggie continued to bear his signature smile.

"Oh man...Christ, this is escalating quickly." Shawn stated as he stood to follow Soap and Trevor towards the Jeep.

"The real question is, how would you even know that, Reggie?" Trevor commented with a blank expression.

Tatiana spoke from her position by the open hood of the second Jeep. "I've started with my feeling around. I like to see what I'm missing."

Soap regretfully recalled receiving a quick crotch grab from the Russian woman a day before. Wasn't a memory he had wanted to fail at compartmentalizing.

Reggie's smile widened. "Her lesbo hands couldn't resist that man chin of his."

"Stop talking about it. NOW." Shorty yelled, voice echoing.

Once Soap reached the driver side, he shot a quick look at Trevor and Shawn, feeling all too prepared to move on from the subject. "We'll drive this to the armory to load it up." Before hopping in he scanned the many faces. "And to get away from all of this…"

Shawn and Trevor flashed him a smile as they entered the empty compartment of the Wrangler.

Once the doors were closed, Shawn made a comment from the backseat. "Well, that got weird and personal real quick."

"That's Reggie for you." Trevor replied as he put out the cigarette and tossed it out of the open window. His metallic eyes fell onto Soap's profile as the car started up. "It's only a matter of time until Reggie understands every angle and dimension of you, and what it is that makes you feel incredibly uncomfortable."

"Well, if anyone hasn't noticed yet, discussing my cock size in front of an audience isn't really my cup of tea." Soap responded flatly as he drove the Jeep from the hangar and towards the armory. He had to shake his head. "Guess that's what I get for interacting."

"I find it funny that you haven't denied it yet." Shawn pointed out.

Soap had to roll his eyes and speak sarcastically. "Yeah, because denying it looks better."

"Hey, at least he didn't say it was a micropenis. If anything, he's enhancing your sexual male confidence." Shawn said from his place in the back. Soap found his wide, innocent eyes in the rearview mirror. He couldn't see Shawn's smile, but he knew he bore one as the muscles on his cheeks tightened.

"Right." Soap murmured with disinterest.

Once reaching the armory, they quickly loaded up the Jeep with all of the rock climbing essentials: nuts, wedges, harnesses, rope, tactical gear, and the works. After finishing the task, the three of them headed east for the Alps. Shawn did the most talking during the 40 minute drive, but he was far from annoying and his voice was lively with character.

As they neared, Soap spoke as his eyes watched the terrain become rockier out in front of them; the sun cast a yellow hue onto the rocky landscape. "You two seem fit enough. But we need to really exert ourselves and get our whole bodies used to what an extra 28kg of weight feels like. Especially while scaling a rock wall...or ice."

The two brothers nodded.

"Should be fun." Shawn commented.

"What do you two weigh?" Soap asked with his usual deep voice.

"I weigh about 80kg."

Trevor casually gestured his hand through the air. "86kg here."

"How do you handle lifting an additional ⅓ your weight?" Soap questioned.

"No problem here." Trevor spoke while looking at the window with a deadpan expression.

Shawn shrugged. "I can do it. We did that a lot during our reign with the Rangers."

Soap nodded with approval. "Good to know. And how fresh are you both in scaling a mountain?"

"Eh...that type of scenario wasn't thrown at us too often." Shawn's eyes glistened in the sunlight that poked through the windows. "We could go for a refreshment."

"And that's why we're here." Soap lowered his brow and leaned forward in the seat to get a better look through the windshield at the upcoming terrain. "I see a decent spot. Let's park then head up this hill."

The Jeep promptly came to a stop as the three men exited the vehicle, heavy bags thrown over their shoulders. They were dressed comfortably for the semi-cool weather. The air felt thinner from the elevation, but it was a fresh and clean atmosphere. Their hair rustled with the brisk gust that streamed in between the rocks and inclines.

Soap peered up some ways with keen eyes. "Tad bit windy. Perfect." Using his strong legs, he brought himself to the top of a large boulder. "Rock climbing and ice climbing aren't too different. The main diversity between the two is the equipment used. With ice, we'll be using picks instead of our hands. Practicing here will work."

Quickly finding a fitting location, the three of them geared up and began with their training and exercises. Back at base, Ricochet was spending most of her time with Price. Both wanted to set up comfortable grounds with each other before setting off in several days. After all, he was going to be her spotter. He had her run courses and perform certain exercises, sometimes he'd even partake in the drills. They spent the afternoon getting to know each other more vividly on a professional level. As dinner neared, they wrapped up the training with a quick practice spar and some shooting practice. She could hit a target well, that was for sure.

Trevor, Shawn, and Soap were late to dinner by a near hour. The practice took longer than expected, but they returned hungry. Being that they were able to manage their our routines and schedules more freely than had it been at a base run by military, the three of them were able to still enjoy a meal. Luckily for them, they were free to eat whenever, of course given it was done in moderation. The three of them ate together outside, enjoying small talk and basic conversations as the sun gradually made its way for the horizon.

Once finished with their meals, they went separate ways in search of a meaningful way to wrap up the evening. Soap's ears caught sound of distant gunfire; the loud crack reverberated off of the metal and concrete sidings of the few buildings around him. It was definitely a bigger gun, which was backed up by a lot of net force and sheer power. Growing curious, he headed for the outdoor shooting range located on the far end. The sound cracked again as he neared. His eyes found Ricochet with her APR338 Brügger & Thomet sniper rifle mounted up on top of a sandbag barrier. It was a beautiful bolt-action rifle with a sheen black and gun-metal grey finish. She caught his movement in her peripherals and quickly looked at him from the corner of her vision.

"Hey, there." She greeted as she quickly loaded up another bullet in the chamber and pulled the trigger. A distance glass bottle, located 100m down the range, shattered and shot glass out like a firework as it glistened in the setting sun.

He brought himself closer while she rose her head up to give him her full attention. "How was the rock-climbing?" She asked nonchalantly.

"Went as expected." He replied with a stoic expression. "How was the old man?"

She nodded at him before looking back down the range, this time without aiming down the sight. "He seems grumpy a lot...but I know he is a good man."

"He means well."

A brief silence filled the space around them before her eyes landed back onto his face. She noticed him observing the details on her APR. Her hands gestured towards it. "Want to have a shot?"

Pondering over it momentarily, he decided he was mildly interested and was willing to give it a shot. It was a new gun to him. "Haven't used one of these yet. Swiss, right?" He lowered down near her, but aware of his distance as she handed it off to him.

"Yes. Sturdy gun with great sights."

He put his right eye to the scope. "Day and night optics...emergency iron sights." He brought his head back up but kept his eyes on the range. "Let's see its power." Putting a bullet into the chamber and taking aim, he pulled the trigger and took out a distance bottle. The sound of glass shattering emitted from down the range. "Not bad. It absorbs a decent portion of the recoil."

She raised her eyebrows. "Not a bad shot either." Her eyes found the side of his face. "Familiar with scoped rifles?"

He nodded. "Aye," his eyes slowly found her face. "Reggie said I should challenge you to a shoot off. Since we're sitting here, I think now would be a good time to take on that challenge."

A smile pulled across her face as her eyes lit up. "Do you like losing?"

"You sound confident. Perhaps overconfident?"

"Think I'll let it go to my head?"

His stare shot back down the range. "It can. But," he looked back to her, "I think you'll be fine. So when do we start?"

She brought herself up and stared down at him. "Let's set up more bottles." He followed her movements as they gathered up more bottles and headed down towards the farther end of the range. Not much was said, but it was comfortable interaction. Eventually, they found themselves back by the sandbag barrier with the APR set up.

"Ladies first." Soap stated.

"You just being polite or are you trying to see what you're up against?" She flashed an amused smile up at him as she brought herself onto her knees.

"Both."

Nodding, she took aim.

They rotated and took turns taking shots. It stayed neck and neck most of the time as the total of 12 bottles were picked off. Each had missed one, and they were left with a draw as they reached the final two.

Before taking a shot at one of the bottles, she peered at him. "This is it. If I miss this, it's a guaranteed tie unless you can land the shot. But...if I hit it, the pressure is all on you."

"Fire away, lass."

She took aim and focused before taking the shot. The wind picked up briefly as she tried to wait it out. Growing somewhat impatient with it, she calculated the wind speed and direction in her head, and decided to pull the trigger. Holding her breath, the bullet launched from the barrel and zipped through the upper portion of the bottle. It sprayed glass as it went flipping through the air. She had to smile and hand off the gun to Soap.

"Nice shot. Let's see if I can impress." He brought the rifle up, and as if the wind couldn't have picked up more, it did. Taking some time to focus, he held his breath and took the shot. Unfortunately, the bullet wisped past the bottle; one could almost hear the bullet hiss past the edge of the bottle. He lowered the barrel, mildly disheartened, but she won fair and square and he wasn't one for denying a successful win.

"Very close. Almost had it." She stated as he pulled himself up, eyes still on the range. She looked up at his face. "Does that mean I win?"

"It does."

"What do I win?"

"Recognition and respect." He replied while handing her back her APR.

"Works for me."

Their eyes met as she narrowed hers slightly when the sun peaked past some clouds and shined natural light into her face. Shielding her eyes with her free hand she stared up at him while he watched her silently.

"Well," she began, "that was fun. We'll have to do it again sometime. Maybe you can gain a win and even us out."

He nodded. "Sure. We have to make sure Price doesn't hear of this, otherwise he'll never let me live it down."

She smiled. "Oh, yeah?"

"Price is always expecting consistent perfectionism."

"I can see that."

"I'm sure he was hammering away at your performance today."

She shrugged. "Honestly, I don't think he's comfortable around me yet. I'm under this impression he thinks lowly of me. And I'm not quite sure why…"

"Price rubs off that way on everyone at first. When I passed selection and was assigned to his unit...Christ, that man could make me shit a brick. He still could if he wanted to, but I can see past his angry exterior. Surprisingly, there is a good intentioned man in there. Just got to take some time to find it."

She blinked at him momentarily as he rolled an imaginary object around in his mouth. "Ready to head back?" She inquired with a soft voice.

He nodded and agreed. Their strides were long as they made their way back to the base. She noticed he had trouble keeping the conversation going, but she was more under the impression that he was merely shy, perhaps not quite sure how to interact with her. But she was satisfied with the recent outcome and was able to see some more of his colors. She enjoyed growing to know the people she was working alongside.

The remaining days went by swiftly as everyone made the most of their time spent. And the new set of missions were on their way.

* * *

Poor Soap. He tries to fit in and his male reproductive organs just get made fun of. Or complimented...however it is you view it.


	11. Let the Tower Fall & Evil Crumble Part 1

I hate it when I reread chapters I already posted and notice stupid typos and mistakes I had made and didn't catch during the first two proofreads. NOT FUN. Here's the start of another long chapter that I had to break into two parts.

* * *

**Chapter 10 - Let the Tower Fall and Evil Crumble - Part 1**

A man with sienna-colored skin, shoulder length burnt-brown hair, and sinister eyes stared over a long mahogany table towards another man with similar features and a scar on his cheek. Both bore aggravated and grim expressions. The man with the longer hair allowed his eyes to dart from the papers before him and the many faces which stared at him from around the large room which was populated with built-in shelves housing the endless amounts of literature.

Suddenly, an assertive finger landed onto one of the papers before him and tapped heavily against it. "Fernando, ¿qué es esta mierda? (Fernando, what is this shit?)" He spoke with a smooth but deadly voice.

The other man before him straightened his posture and crossed his arms. "Nuestros hombres se les hace creer que esas fotos son una prueba de que estamos ante una situación en nuestras manos. (Our men are led to believe that those pictures are proof that we have a situation on our hands.)" He blinked at his brother and let loose an irritated sigh. "Nuestros vendedores en Italia, Emilio Albini y su equipo, dijo que eran capaces de captar una transmisión en vivo de los cuatro culpables, que lograron infiltrarse su almacén y sacar 12 de sus hombres. (Our sellers in Italy, Emilio Albini and his crew, said they were able to capture a live stream of the four culprits which managed to infiltrate their warehouse and take out 12 of their men.)"

The longer-haired man rubbed his brow in attempts to wipe away some of the stress. He finally leaned back and gestured towards the sheets of paper. "Quiénes son? (Who are they?)"

Fernando shrugged. "No estoy seguro. (Not sure.)"

He brought himself up and stared at his older brother profoundly. "Tenemos que averiguarlo. Esos cabrones tienen que ser los mismos que los que piratean uno de nuestros barcos. (We have to find out. Those fuckers have to be the same ones which pirated one of our ships.)"

Fernando rolled his eyes. "Arsenio, si se trataba de una tarea fácil, que habría tenido que hacer por ahora. Todo lo que tenemos que ir fuera de decir esas pocas series de imágenes. (Arsenio, if it was an easy task we would have had it done by now. All we have to go off of is those few sets of pictures.)"

Arsenio pulled at his mouth then pointed harshly down at the black and white images. "Probablemente los Americanos. Es siempre malditos Americanos. Siempre metiendo las narices en los asuntos de todos. (Probably Americans. It's always fucking Americans. Always shoving their noses in everyone's business.)"

"A partir de ahora, no tenemos forma de saberlo. (As of now, we have no way of knowing.)"

Fernando watched his younger, but angrier, brother pace out from behind the table and storm over towards the window. His brown eyes narrowed at the palm trees outside. "Te apuesto mi testículo izquierdo que están detrás de la muerte del padre. (I bet you my left testicle they're behind father's death as well.)"

Fernando leaned in to get a better look at the pictures as he grabbed a few of them up. It was a series of close-ups of the four Darkhorse members which had been sent in. Luckily for the Darkhorse members, their faces were near unrecognizable and ball caps covered their faces with shadows. "No se puede distinguir sus rostros. Pero definitivamente hay cuatro de ellos. Uno se ve muy grande. (Can't make out their faces. But there's definitely four of them. One looks very large.)"

Arsenio turned back around and pointed towards the sheets. "Es una hembra? El que tiene el pelo largo? (Is one female? The one with the long hair?)"

Fernando looked over the images and slowly nodded. "Más probable. El cabello se ve más claro. Quizá rubio o castaño claro. (Most likely. Hair looks lighter. Perhaps blonde or light brown.)"

"Quiero llegar al fondo de esto. (I want to get to the bottom of this)." Arsenio replied through lowered brows and a clenched jaw.

His older brother nodded. "Vamos a tratar de investigar más a fondo. A partir de ahora, todo lo que tenemos que ir fuera de sus apariciones es. Dos de los hombres no son muy distintos, mientras que los otros dos son un débil más prominente. Una mujer y un hombre alto. (We will try to look into it further. As of now, all we have to go off of is their appearances. Two of the men aren't too distinct, whereas the other two are a faintly more prominent. A female and a tall man.)"

Arsenio waved him off. "Lo que sea. No vamos a permitir que el padre hacia abajo. A diferencia de Esteban, que pensé que sería una idea inteligente para tratar de robar el centro de atención. (Whatever. We will not let father down. Unlike Esteban who thought it'd be a clever idea to try to steal the spotlight.)"

"Lo haremos. Sólo será cuestión de tiempo antes de que los culpables cometen un error significativo. (We will. It'll only be a matter of time before the culprits make a significant mistake.)"

"Y luego vamos a llegar ellos. (And then we'll get them.)" Arsenio replied with a glow of determination in his eyes.

* * *

"You three are approaching the drop-off zone. ETA is 6 minutes." Reggie's voice sounded cooly over the radio.

Shawn shifted in his seat while Trevor stared down with disinterest towards the floor and Soap watched the cargo bay doors. The loading ramp door currently remained shut, shielding them from the cold, whipping winds from outside. The three of them were dressed for the weather. Each bearing large coats, thick beanie hats, a set of fog-proof goggles, warm boots and gloves, and backpacks that weighed almost a third of their mass.

As they neared, Reggie's voice emitted once again. "Closing in on the drop-zone. Prepare your chutes. You all will be diving out of that back loading ramp." He paused for a moment. "Also known as the plane butthole."

Immediately, Trevor rolled his eyes, Shawn shook his head, and Soap remained unimpressed with a blank expression. Soap was all business during times of seriousness and life-or-death scenarios.

"Opening rear door." Reggie announced as a red light began to blink and the loading ramp began to lower, emitting a strong mechanical sound. The three men immediately rose from their seats, tightening their vests, securing their guns, and lowering their goggles. The red, blinking light lit up their toughened complexions with a series of red hues. Soap stepped up first and peered out the opening and towards the icy peaks of the vast mountain range. Feeling the brisk and freezing wind lash at his face immediately brought back the time he spent with a previous sergeant in his Task Force unit back in his days of being ranked a captain. Gary Sanderson, which was referred to as 'Roach'. He was a brave and loyal man, much like Soap, and the day he passed was a day Soap would never forget, much like the many other events in his previous timeline. He had to heave a heavy sigh.

Trevor approached shortly behind Soap and looked out at the horizon, which was barely visible through the icy mist and distant mountain pinnacles. Soap could feel his presence and looked over his broad shoulder at him.

"I'll dive first. Give me a three second start." Soap stated assertively in Trevor's direction.

Trevor only nodded as Shawn reached his backside and rolled his shoulders. Suddenly, the light switched from red to green.

"You're free to jump. Good luck, gentlemen. We'll reestablish communications momentarily." Reggie announced. The sound of his voice signaled their drop-off, and immediately caused Soap to reach the end of the loading ramp and leap out of the opening. He disappeared into the mountain air in the blink of an eye.

"Well, here we go." Shawn commented.

"See you on land." Trevor said flatly as he dove after Soap.

Shawn ran shortly after his brother and followed through with similar movements. The visibility was low at first, but they all three quickly broke into a clearing in the clouds. Trevor and Soap were both ahead, and located in different locations in the sky. This was nowhere near Soap's first time in the sky. Having served with the 3rd Battalion, Parachute Regiment in his earlier years meant he had seen his fair share of experiences within the presence of the clouds.

They neared the surfaces of the snowy mountains fast. Soap's voice just faintly emitted from the radio in their years; the sound of the lashing winds made it near inaudible.

"Withdraw the chutes!" Soap shouted, immediately pulling his chord. With the chute opened, the air quickly whipped him back up and slowed his fall with tremendous speeds. The two other men followed through, Shawn shortly after Trevor. Their hands gripped their vests and their feet dangled above the mountain crannies and jagged edges.

"Clearing up ahead! Steer in that direction!" Soap ordered.

Despite the speed of their fall, time seemed to move slowly, even though the pines and firs that populated the mountain tops were approaching swiftly. Soap managed to maneuver over some trees and hover gracefully towards the white break in between all of the trees. He ran in mid-air as he neared, and once his boots touched the surface of the snow, he allowed his momentum to carry on until he gained full control. He rolled, causing the chute to veil his body.

Trevor struggled momentarily as an unprovoked gale of wind carried him back up and veered him sharply to the right. "Ah, shit." The landing Soap had found was now disappearing out of sights, meaning he had to now scan the area for a new safe clearing amongst the trees and rocks. His eyes were quick to spot something as he controlled his chute to carry him smoothly towards the surface of the cold earth. Mimicking Soap's movements, he landed and ran along the ground until he managed to roll and cease his momentum. Quickly throwing the chute to the side, he looked up towards the sky to see where Shawn had ended up. He immediately looked off to his left to see Shawn further down, closer to the heavily populated area of firs. The same gust of wind must have grabbed him up as well.

"Ugh, fuck!" Shawn yelled over the radio as he approached the tops of the trees. "Gonna be a rough landing for me!"

Trevor watched his brother's speed carry him towards the trees. "Pull back on those chords! Slow down, you're going too fast!"

Shawn grunted. "I'm very aware of that!" By now, he was entering the trees. He was fortunate enough to avoid some branches, allowing his body to slip through unfazed, but of course, his chute snagged several branches. Tugging back on him with the same amount of momentum the wind was dragging him along with, he was thrashed backwards. It sent him heading for a thick tree trunk. Kicking his feet out, he stopped his motion from flinging him forcefully into a tree. His knees, however, were hit with a quick shock of pain as the force carried through his legs.

"God damn…" Shawn was now hanging freely as he looked up towards the canopy and tops of the trees. His chute managed to grab onto several branches. Instinct immediately had him looking down. He was easily three stories up in terms of his distance from the ground.

A voice rung in his ear. "Shawn. You alright?" It was Trevor's seemingly unconcerned voice.

Shawn panted and exhaled. "Affirmative." He looked around at his surroundings. "I'm a bit...tied up though."

"What happened?" Soap's deep voice emitted.

"Wind threw me off. Ended up in some trees."

"Can you release the chute?" Soap inquired.

Shawn had to shake his head. "I'm pretty high up."

"What's your location?"

"I'm probably roughly a third of a klick to Trevor's southeast."

"Give us a moment. We'll get you down." Soap replied, but quickly continued with his speech. "Trevor. Meet up with me. What's your position?"

Trevor turned around to face the distant treeline he had seen Soap disappear to. Quickly glancing at the compass on his wrist, he answered. "I'm close. I'm to your east."

"Meet you at that treeline."

Soap ended the conversation and began to round up his chute. They'd need it for shelter later. Snatching it all up and packing it away, leaving some sticking out from the top of his pack, he paced towards the eastward treeline. Meeting up with Trevor in the matter of a few quick minutes, they both journeyed in Shawn's unfortunate direction.

Trevor had to shine a very faint smile. "Damn, Shawn. That's my brother for you. Poor kid has the tendency to get caught up with bad luck."

Soap glanced at him from the corner of his vision. Snow was starting to stick to his eyebrows and his long lashes. "Can't be too bad of luck. He's still alive, at least."

Trevor's smile slowly disappeared from his rugged face. "He manages to stay alive, just not out of trouble."

"I wonder how high he got tangled up."

"High enough to be too cowardly to drop himself down."

Soap flashed a quick smirk. "He's got the Yankee syndrome."

"Right. Last time I checked, us Yankees have enough firepower to kill the entire world's population up to seven times. And all of that firepower is contained to one single bunker." Trevor looked over at him with amusement.

"Ah, of course. But you're only proving my point." Soap began, returning Trevor's entertained stare. "Because the Yankees don't have big enough balls to do anything with all of it."

"Alright. Fair enough. But how about you check back in when Scotland offers the world something useful other than kilts and sheep."

Soap let his grin grow. "You're a cheeky bastard."

"You started it." Trevor fired Soap's tone right back at him.

Meanwhile, Shawn was dangling loosely and was merely pondering deeply. He moved his goggles up from his eyes and allowed them to sit onto the upper portion of his forehead. Snow and ice was already beginning to build up around his eyelashes.

Eventually, Soap and Trevor entered Shawn's sights. The two of them immediately peered up as some snow near the tops of the trees fell down towards them. They met Shawn's unamused stare.

"Well, if you were any closer to the ground I'd start beating your ass with a large stick. You look strikingly similar to a pinata." Trevor said while observing Shawn's predicament.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. So funny." Shawn stated sarcastically. He wiggled in his tight position and exhaled deeply. "So, who's coming to get me?"

Soap analyzed the problem and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "You can drop from there. Let your weight fall forward and roll with it when you near land. Snow should absorb some of the impact."

"Yeah. Right. Let's just make the only medic here risk breaking his ankle during a rock-climbing mission." Shawn replied flatly.

"It's actually ice-climbing. Minor differences." Trevor commented.

Shawn let out his arms. "Whatever! I still need my legs."

Trevor pointed towards Soap. "Maybe Soap can catch you as you fall from your cozy, little, princess loft."

"You're implying that I'm a fairy princess because I'm too nervous to release my vest and plummet towards the earth from a 10 meter drop." Shawn said matter-of-factly.

"Take one for the team, Captain Obvious."

"Just get me down!"

Trevor turned away to look towards the many trunks of the pines as Soap stared up at Shawn with entertained but quizzical eyes. "I guess I can climb the tree to get to you."

Trevor cocked his head towards Soap. "Or you could just cut him down and let him fall."

Soap analyzed the fall. "I don't know, Shawn. You can probably land this just fine."

"It'd be cool if you two could just outstretch one of the parachutes and catch me in it." Shawn commented with a questioning stare.

"Your fall force from that distance might make it too difficult to pull that one off." Soap claimed.

Suddenly, they picked up a new voice. "Sup, dudes." Of course, it was Reggie. "Reestablishing communications. What's your status down there? Over."

"We landed about half a klick from the intended landing zone. But Shawn is caught up in the tree tops." Trevor replied. "Over."

Reggie began to laugh.

"Shut your face, Reggie! Can you pretend to be professional? Just once?" Shawn shouted, letting his voice carry between the trees.

"Oh, go figure. Shawn's mad about something. Over." Reggie's voice came out mischievously as always.

Trevor smiled up at the annoyed, dangling Shawn. "Shawn's just embarrassed because he needs our help again. Over."

Shawn's expression was enough to cause a smile to pull on Soap's cheeks. The man looked down at them with disapproval as all eyes were on him. "You make it sound like I'm just always running around in need of assistance. If I recall, I saved your sorry hide back with the Rangers."

Trevor waved him off as Reggie began to speak. "Anyways, we're heading out. The scheduled pickup time will be in 42 hours at the 1800 hour mark. We will drop off some extra equipment in a care package about three klicks to your north. That container will have the rest of the survival essentials. We'll mark it for you." Reggie began to click his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Also, that radio tower is about an additional seven klicks northwest of the care package location. If there's any drawbacks, let the radio guys know. We can reschedule a new rendezvous. But keep communications at a minimum. That tower will be able to pick up your stronger signals. Over."

"Copy that." Soap responded before looking back up in Shawn's direction. Shawn was shifting directions as the wind spun his body slowly. He looked like an unhappy Christmas ornament.

"So uh...right...when can I come down?" Shawn questioned.

Soap gestured at him. "Release the chute. We don't need it."

"You need my legs though."

"Stop acting like your legs are going to shatter when you hit the ground."

"Don't forget to catch him, Soap." Trevor commented.

"In my strong arms?"

"Well, you are his prince in shining armor."

"Enough!" Shawn hollered. "I'm not in the mood to joke about it. We can have a good laugh when this is all over, but-" then the tree branches started to creak. Shawn looked up at them as some loose snow hit his face and shoulders. "Well, that didn't sound good."

Soap sighed as he stepped towards the base of the tree. "Alright. I'm going to come get you. If you do fall, just do as I told you." He threw a rope around the trunk of the tree and gripped both ends tightly. "We'll count this as one of my 'returning-the-favor' acts."

"So kind." Shawn replied.

"Easy. Push me the right way and I'll decide to stay down here." Soap's blue-grey eyes remained on the tree as he began to inch his way up, using the sheer strength in his legs and arms to propel him forward.

"In other words, just start being an asshole once he gets closer to the top." Trevor claimed as he lit up a cigarette. "I'll be down here if you all need me."

Once Soap reached Shawn's position, he surveyed the complications. Shawn met his eyes and blinked at him. "What now?"

Soap breathed through his mouth, sending his frozen breath into the air. "Get a swinging momentum going. When you get close enough to me just grab onto my pack. Once you have that, you should be able to release your chute. Then I guess you can just climb down on your own after that."

Shawn nodded at him. "So, I guess that means I don't get a free ride down now?"

Soap shook his head. "That'll cost you extra."

"What kind of currency are we talking?

"Buy me a beer. Or whip up some cake."

Shawn smiled faintly as his eyes lit up hilarity. "How many cakes and beers are we up to?"

"One beer for making me come up here to get you. Using me as transportation on half the way down is one cake. Two cakes for the whole tree."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "What kind of cake?"

"Red velvet with cream cheese icing is the first charge. The second charge is a German chocolate cake."

"You're making me hungry for cake, now."

Soap nodded his head at him. "Let's get moving."

Shawn began to sway his legs until his body was able to get his momentum going. He rocked back and forth, the tree branch began to creak louder and louder at each complete swing. Eventually, his hands were able to reach Soap's back and quickly grip at the bag. Soap strengthened his hold around the trunk of the tree to keep from swaying backwards with Shawn, should he had lost his grip around the ropes. Before Shawn could release the parachute from his shoulders, the branch snapped and began to plummet for the ground.

"Release the chute! Now!" Soap hollered at Shawn who was already tugging at his vest. Trevor's eyes widened as he took several steps back and out of danger as the branch came tumbling down. Shawn was quick enough to release the chute from his body, and just in the knick of time too. The branch brought the chute down with it as it landed with a heavy crash. He was now clinging onto Soap's backside and let loose a relieved sigh.

"That was a close call."

Soap looked around before peering down. "So will I be adding onto your cake tab or are you going to tough it yourself?"

Shawn shook his head with mild enjoyment. "I can handle it. Thanks, bear-man."

"I guess that's a new name now?"

Shawn slowly lowered off of Soap's back and used his rope to tighten his grip around the trunk of the tree. "It's more descriptive than a name. You're big, you're good at climbing, and you love food."

"You make it sound like I have to be crane-lifted out of my bed every morning." Soap had to utter a quick chuckle as Shawn laughed at his statement. "I eat Shorty's day-old leftover lasagna, now suddenly I'm this food-loving cow."

Shawn slid down a little ways, giving Soap more room to work with. "You're the first one to meals every time."

"That's called promptness."

"Or ravenous, impatient hunger."

Trevor looked up and arched a brow at them through his cigarette smoke. "Will you two speed it up? I'm almost done with my cigarette."

"You're an impatient one today, aren't ya? Maybe you need a second one, considering how pissy you are." Shawn replied, shooting Trevor a quick glance.

"You're one to talk." He exhaled the tobacco smoke and gestured his cigarette in Shawn's direction. "You could probably use a smoke. You turn into an angry spider monkey when you get irritable."

Shawn snickered. "Right. Let me just pick up an unhealthy habit. That'll make me feel way better."

"And drinking isn't an unhealthy habit?"

Shawn sighed. "And how often do we get to drink? Once a month?"

"Just sayin'."

"And you smoke like twice a day. You're done with a pack every week. Do you want lung cancer? Because that's how you get lung cancer."

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Lung cancer is the least of my concerns."

"During our learnings in medical school-"

Soap slowly looked down at Shawn. "Jesus Christ. Enough with the petty arguing. Speed it along, sprout. I'm about to jump down on your head if you go any slower."

By now, they had declined several meters. Shawn's green, observant looked down from Soap and towards the snowy earth. Realizing the distance, he decided to bound off the tree and roll through the snow as a safe landing. Shawn popped up quickly and met Trevor's disinterested stare. Trevor flicked his cigarette butt off into the snow before spitting out the bad taste.

Soap was quick to follow after. Once he stood, he shook off some of the snow and moved his keen eyes to where the brothers stood. "Let's go. We've dicked around long enough. Time to get a move on." He strided past them and gestured his head for them to follow. Trevor let his arm out for Shawn.

"Ladies first." Trevor cooly stated.

Shawn had to roll his eyes at his brother before following Soap's large footprints. Soap had already made his way further ahead; his pace was fast. The two brothers jogged after him and caught up swiftly. The large Scotsman took a quick peep at his military grade wristwatch.

"Alright. Heading north now towards the care package. ETA is about an hour. 1034 hours now." Soap took a moment to ponder. "That puts us roughly 30 minutes behind schedule already. Let's pick up the pace."

"Aye, aye. Captain." Trevor murmured.

Soap ignored the smartass remark, after all, he was all too used to it. Back in his day in the 22nd Regiment, Gaz always had a way of putting his cheeky two-cents in.

After an almost one hour trek through snow, the three soldiers finally arrived at the designated location which had been marked for them. A stream of red smoke hovered into the air and high above a large, sturdy chest, which was streaked with dark grey, bright red, and vibrant orange colors. Already snow had begun to obscure the chest. As they approached, the snow had begun to climb up to their thighs.

"Do we not get snow shoes?" Shawn inquired with narrowed eyes.

"Shouldn't need them the higher we get up. Snow usually dies down the higher we climb." Soap neared the side of the chest and pulled open the lid. "Here, grab one of everything. I have a chute in my bag at the moment to use as shelter from the cold later tonight." His eyes found Trevor. "We'll have to split up who carries what."

"Right." Trevor replied flatly.

"Tight squeeze...I already have medical supplies on me." Shawn bent over the chest and peered in. "We all need to be carrying food and fluids. If something bad happens and we get separated, we can't have only one of us carrying everything we need to survive."

Soap nodded. "Let me wrap this chute up. Should make more room for me." He was quick to pull it out and wrap it up tightly. The way he looped it allowed for him to turn the parachute into another bag as it hung over his back and clung to his strong shoulders. "There. Crisis averted."

Trevor snagged up fire starters and rations. "Actually...we really can't split up the gear."

"Aye. Unwise to do that. I retract what I said earlier. I was getting ahead of myself."

"Well, let's just sort through all of this and see what we can manage." Shawn stated as he began to take up his share of the essentials. "Here's the ice picks."

Each member grabbed their pair and put them into their packs.

Soap pulled himself up and looked around at the scenery. It was still and quiet, the only noise being the cold wind which sent a breeze through the valley. His eyes moved up towards the steep, snowy incline before locking onto a wall of rock and ice, which reached a landing on a cliff roughly 25 meters up.

Soap raised a hand to point at the side of the cliff. "We're going to climb that wall right there." He lowered his arms once Trevor and Shawn followed his gesture. "Let's recharge first. Get some food in us and then we'll start our way up."

Shawn flashed a smile. "Always with the food."

Soap looked at him. "You're more than welcome to skip the meal."

"What? So that you can eat my portion?"

Soap shook his head and smirked. "Just feeding my inner bear."

Once the task of sorting through all of the equipment and finding a tight but cozy spot for it in their bags, the three men took a seat on some rocks to enjoy a quick break. They ate and drank quietly while each of their eyes observed and scanned different parts of the terrain. Taking a bite of his food, Soap analyzed the size of the sheet of ice which hung from the side of the cliff. It looked stable and sturdy enough; it was no different than anything he experienced. As he stared distantly at the side of the mountain, Trevor watched his food and hands while Shawn's eyes moved around with attentiveness.

After finishing up, they hid what little traces they left behind before making their way to the sheet of thick ice. They all peered up at its immense mass as it reflected white, silver, blue, and green light at them.

Shawn had to shiver momentarily. "Holy shit, my balls are freezing right now."

"Nice and close to your body?" Trevor asked with a tone of entertainment.

"Fuck yeah. They're shrivelling up in fear of shrinking anymore."

Soap looked back at him real quick as he pulled out his ice picks. "Only going to get worse."

Shawn shook some energy into his arms before reaching for his picks. "Alright, let's do this."

Soap nodded as he tightened the ice picks' straps around his wrists and jabbed the sharp point of the pick into the sheet of ice. He tugged on it before reaching up to plant the other one into the ice, located above his head. His spiked boots dug into the ice as he pulled himself along. "Ice is in good shape." He craned his neck back and stared down at the brothers' faces. "Follow me."


	12. Let the Tower Fall & Evil Crumble Part 2

**Chapter 10: Let the Tower Fall and Evil Crumble - Part 2**

It was a dry day. The air was thick with heat and distant terrain was obscured by the heatwaves that rose from the sweltering, arid ground. Price and Ricochet found themselves sitting quietly and dangerously still while they waited patiently for their target to appear within a small town eastward of Kondoz, Afghanistan. Their desert camo kept them hidden within the surrounding colors of the tan-hued dirt around them. The two of them watched over a prominent and from an upper incline of a steep hill. Price kept his watchful eye stuck within the visibility of his binoculars and on the far-off buildings and beige environment. Next to him, laying on her stomach, was Ricochet who laid silent with her vision peering through the scope of her APR338.

Price slowly lowered the binoculars, and without moving his eyes away from the distant town, he spoke with his gruff voice. "Our target should be arriving soon. Meeting with his group of trusted Taliban to discuss regional issues with another unit of terrorists. Remember his appearance?"

"Affirmative. Saleh Nasir. About 32 years-old, 175 cm, 72 kg, and has a deep scar on the right-side of his jaw."

"Most likely will have his right-hand man next to him as he converses with the other local Taliban. That will be Bishr Hana. He'll be the taller wanker with a beard and a gut. Prominent example of a sick man. The two of them just participated and organized the mass homicide of several women and children. Trying to 'convey a message'; typical sociopath terrorist for you. Afghani government wants Saleh out of the picture."

She glanced at the old man in the corner of her vision. "We only have clearance to kill Saleh?"

"Right."

Her eyes moved back towards the scope. "A shame."

"Never said we wouldn't be taking Bishr out as well." The man's voice sounded perilous. "That muppet deserves a bullet through his skull." He adjusted the M21 sniper rifle near his side.

She had to blink at him with concern, and was unaware of how to respond. Having spent the last day and a half with the old man, she had come to learn a lot. He was a bit...off. The man had definitely seen his fair share of violence, battles, blood, death, and survival. But the sense of survival Price possessed wasn't like Soap's, she got the impression that Price housed an internal ability to exhibit street and prison survival instincts, whereas Soap merely displayed the survival skills of a professional soldier. She viewed Price as unpredictable, and potentially very dangerous. Not wanting to speak against his possible upcoming actions, she remained oddly quiet.

Eventually, an hour passed and a convoy of some older model sedans and an SUV came into sights. Price lowered himself and kept his eyes focused through his binoculars. "This may be them."

They both waited calmly as the vehicles came to a sudden stop. A few moments had passed of zero movement, it was rather eerie. Suddenly, several men removed themselves from the cars they were contained in as another set of men emerged from surrounding buildings. They all approached each other, each gripping a range of weaponry, and eventually began to speak to one another. They gesticulated with emotion and displayed an air of assertiveness. Despite neither knowing what the tradeback pertained to, they kept their observant eyes locked onto the distant group of Taliban members.

Price's voice abruptly emitted. "There. Got a positive I.D. Our eleven. He's in the off-white shirt and olive cargo pants." He paused briefly. "As predicted, Bishr is next to him. See him?"

"Affirmative." She tightened her grip around the trigger. "Signal the shot."

"Today is lacking breeze. You won't have to take that into consideration. Only the distance and the drop of the bullet after firing." He brought his M21 scope to his right eye. Ricochet had no idea he was now aiming down his sights with his crosshairs honed in on the space slightly above Bishr's head.

She moved her crosshairs and kept it locked on Saleh, who gestured with wide palms and lively expressions.

"On my go." Price announced with a raspy voice. "On three," Ricochet held her breath. "3...2...1…"

Releasing their breath, both took a shot. There was a brief moment of stillness before the distant targets burst into an array of blood and exploding flesh. Bishr's head simply became a mass of broken facial bones and bright red, as Saleh's neck received a fatal blow to the neck. The blood splattered out and hit nearby men. The cracks of their rifles emitted off of the hills and landscaping around them. The group of Taliban immediately dispersed and scattered for nearby shelter. Their mouths and lips moving fervently.

Ricochet's eyes widened as she peered over at Price at a loss of words. He had a faint smirk on his face and bore a satisfied expression. Without looking at her, he said, "Good shot."

She took a second to allow her mind to run over the potential outcomes of having taken out a man they were not given kill clearance on. Feeling somewhat anxious, she replied. "Let's move out."

He nodded as they began to slip away and out of the immediate proximity.

* * *

Shards and dust of ice shot out from the picks and spiked boots that dug and scraped against its surface. Soap planted a wedge and nut into the sheet of ice after finding a strong enough cranny. The three men remained quiet as the only sound that emitted from around them was the harsh wind and the digging and dragging of their boots. They moved along quickly, as Trevor and Shawn followed Soap's lead and the rope and safeties he planted along the way. Shawn had the tedious task of removing a wedge once Soap had set up a new one further ahead, and eventually, the three of them would pull the rope back up where it ended up within Soap's possession once again.

Several hours had passed and the sun had already begun its journey behind the distant mountain peaks and ice-cold horizon. Their breath blew out of their mouths in a frozen stream of mist. During their journey up, the amount of pines and firs had greatly decreased and only a few mountain goats had been seen further down the mountain. The men had ACRs thrown over their backs, but were unsure if the weapons were going to be utilized or not. After all, there was no knowledge of the radio tower actually being guarded, and the chances were slim considering the distance from sea level.

Soap's picks suddenly reached the upper edge of the cliff as they slammed down into the ice. Using the leverage and his strength, he pulled himself up onto a somewhat flat surface. He rose up and turned around to wait for Trevor and Shawn to pop their heads up. Shortly after, Trevor's head became visible as he lifted himself up onto his feet. After him, came his brother who brought the rope and the last wedge up with him. They all turned to peer at each other before Soap's eyes darted away and scanned the area.

"The sun is starting to set. Now would be a good time to find some shelter for the night. Keep your eyes peeled for any overhanging cliffs or jutting rocks that we can all fit under." Soap found the brothers again who nodded at him with understanding.

Rounding on his heels, Soap trudged through the ice and snow, tossing a rope over his shoulder. The two brothers ambled after him, both falling into their deep thoughts, pondering over recent and upcoming events. The wind was picking up, and despite there being little to no snowfall, the snow the gust blew up caused a cloud of white dust to shower over them and obscure their views.

The ground was hardening with a sheet of ice and the weight of their feet broke through the surface and emitted muffled cracks. The ice that was forming on the tops of the land around them reflected and blared white and yellow light back into their determined eyes and rugged faces. Soap and Trevor were stuck in a state of displaying permanent 5 o'clock shadow, and it was more prominent as a thin layer of ice built up along their faces and grabbed onto the stubble. Shawn bore a more "innocent" look and the hair along his jawline was less noticeable despite having had a head full of almost solid ebony locks. He was an ex-Ranger that steered far away from the typical appearance of an ex-special force soldier, but he was ambitious and dangerous if cornered.

Shawn's eyes, tinted green like a forest of lively vegetation, darted upwards and peered through a cloud of swirling mist and snow. Through the break in the dancing snow, he spotted an overhanging set of reliable looking rocks.

He brought his free hand up to point. "How about that spot? At our 2."

Trevor and Soap's eyes followed his directions and promptly locked onto the jutting rocks.

Soap nodded with approval. "It'll work. Let's set up there."

The three men paced through the snow, chins up with their bodies leaning forward over their centers of gravity. Finding themselves under the protruding shelter of the bluff, their hands found the straps of their packs, and any additional gear they lugged around, and tossed it all to the ground with a muffled 'thump'. Their breaths hovered around their frozen faces as they exhaled heavily.

Eventually, Soap placed his hands on his waist and looked over towards the brothers. "Remember those downed pines we saw earlier? Down the end of the last incline?"

"Yeah?" Shawn's eyes found Soap's stubble covered face.

"Go gather up some wood. Trevor, you should go with him. Safety in numbers."

Trevor crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the Scotsman. "What will you do?"

On cue, Soap peered over at the bags. "I'll start setting up here." His reflective eyes, which were glowing with an icy hue, found Trevor once again. "Sound good?"

Trevor nodded and rolled an imaginary object around his mouth while Shawn agreed before glancing off towards the distant peaks and drop-offs.

"Perfect. We have about an hour of decent daylight. Let's get a move-on." Soap ordered, gesturing with his right hand for the brothers to get in motion. He turned his body and began to rummage through the bags, pulling out the necessities for their encampment.

Shawn looked to Trevor, who merely grunted and turned away to lead them back down the hill. Trevor moved quickly with an air of disinterest as Shawn hastily approached his backside.

Once out of earshot, Shawn opened his mouth to speak. "What do you think of Soap? He's a completely different person when he's in a leadership role."

Without pulling his attention from the path before him, Trevor replied. "He was a former captain. It's obviously apparent." He paused momentarily to ponder over the images in his head. "Why do you ask?"

Shawn shrugged. "Not the Soap I've gotten accustomed to. Way bossier. Seems more intolerant." His eyes peered over his shoulder before continuing. "But, I guess your point makes sense."

"Not only that, but I'm sure the guy has seen a fair share of death. And I would imagine as a captain, that'd be much more disturbing considering one would feel more responsible for the loss of others. Probably wants to make sure everything stays orderly and flawless. You know how it is."

"What? Seeing friends die? Losing the people around you? Trying to constantly manage stress and chaos?"

Trevor nodded.

"Of course I do. I'm not insulting the guy. It's just obvious a different persona has come out." Shawn responded with an even tone.

"It sounded as if you were implying he's become an asshole now. I was merely trying to defend him."

Shawn shook his head. "No. That's not what I was getting at." He raised an eyebrow. "And why did you feel obligated to defend him?"

Trevor remained silent for a brief moment as he blinked at the nearing frostbitten trees. "Soap's like us, that's why."

Shawn looked at the backside of his brother's head.

Trevor had to heave a sigh. "I'm sensing that you're confused again."

"Um, kind of, yeah."

Trevor finally peered back at his brother. "All of us. We're broken, we're unwanted, and we're incredibly expendable. Yet, we still care about our roles and the people around us." His metallic eyes moved away from Shawn's face. "There's a reason we all ended up where we are today."

"We're the leftovers."

"Right."

Silence immediately fell over them, as unfortunate memories returned to them. It had been a dark time ever since the war started, and after their unit had been near obliterated, the brothers had always found a way to be friends with death and a sense of despair always loomed. Trevor recognized the look on Soap's face when he joined their little Darkhorse family. The way he stared off at irrelevant distant objects, deep in thought constantly, and always seeming to be having an internal battle with himself, the look reminded Trevor of himself and his brothers. Reggie could hide it better, but it was there. But it was a look everyone had possessed. If a smile faded or bright eyes disappeared, it was immediately replaced by this sad and empty look, as if their former selves had been repossessed by the soldiers of death they each held inside them. Oddly enough, Price was far different than the rest, somehow always managing to keep a stoic and unfazed expression. It was eerily inhuman. Despite Soap being Price's right-hand man, they were vastly different. Perhaps that was why they were drawn to each other, the two needed each other more than they completely realized.

The brothers finally found themselves amongst the fallen over trees. Trevor released a thick exhale as he looked over the dried branches and trunks. Reaching for his hatchet, he moved for the closest set of fallen firs.

"Let's get this over with." He mumbled.

Eventually, the task of gathering up some wood for the night was complete and they ambled back up the incline in the direction of their new found place of rest. Once to the top of the hill, they were met with a sharp-eyed glance from Soap who was finishing up the assignment of hammering stakes into the ground and planting them deep into the frosty earth. He swiftly peered back down at his hands as he sent one final blow to the head of the metal spike before tossing the mallet towards the bags. Trevor dropped the wood out before him as Shawn carefully placed the splintered pieces of wood into an orderly pile. They all looked at each other as the space around them became still.

The sun was near out of sight, and the environment around the three men was beginning to lose it's pink and yellow hues and fade into an abyss of blues and dark-greys.

"Well, fire? Yeah?" Trevor inquired with his typical furrowed brow expression.

Soap nodded at him. "Aye."

Trevor's eyes stayed on Soap's face before peering off towards the bags; his legs guided him towards the gear as he lowered down to browse the packs' contents. His mind wandered, but his main thoughts were on Soap. He got a good vibe from him, but it was somewhat outlandish. The large Scotsman gave off an approachable aura majority of the time, but on a few occasions it was a very intimidating force; one could tell he would become stuck on haunting thoughts, and it was obvious he was experiencing them now. Soap was the moody type, usually going back and forth between being kind and enjoyable, to shut-down and intolerant. The feeling was mutual though, which was also why both men respected each other. Soap saw that Trevor had a dark side that he kept very close and quiet, but nonetheless, was a mighty fine soldier with the willpower and diligence of a professional.

Shawn on the other hand, was having difficulty reading Soap. Wanting to converse on several occasions, he had discovered that there were times it was best to let Soap dwell in his own thoughts and mind himself. The difference was the way he'd reply or the shifts in facial expressions. Usually keeping a relaxed expression by default, it was always initially complicated for Shawn to read him before approaching. He had learned it was best to look through the windows of Soap's light eyes. That's where the emotion was. If he wasn't in the mood for conversation, his replies were terribly shorter than usual and his brows were lowered, but if he was open to human interaction he usually kept his brow even and his eyes wide with character. Rarely smiling, he still had a way to warm a heart through his simple, deep words and relaxing eyes.

After some time had passed and the sun was near nonexistent, the three of them found themselves sitting quietly, food in hand, and eyes on the fire. The hovering smoke and the light of their fire remained hidden and obscured by the overhanging cliff and the veil of their makeshift tent. All of this, the experience, the mountain, the cold, reminded Soap of his time in Kazakhstan. Having all of these unexpected emotions now seeping into his mind and body, Soap could feel his body tensing and his brow furrow with a sudden burden of trauma and stress. His eyes glowed in the warm light as Trevor found them from over the flames and through the smoke. Immediately, Trevor noticed the drastic change in mannerisms.

Getting some food out of the back of his mouth with his tongue, Trevor began to speak. "So, Soap," immediately, Soap met his stare. "I had heard about your previous experience as a captain. Led a task force, right?"

Soap blinked at him momentarily before responding. "Aye."

Shawn peered up towards his brother before finding Soap's tired face. Trevor nodded slowly. "Task Force 141?" Soap nodded his head at Trevor. "How long were you with them before getting the honors of leading them?"

Shifting, Soap replied with a deep voice. "Joined in 2013. Became captain almost three years later."

"Pretty fast progression. How old were you when you joined?"

Soap took a moment to ponder. "Let's see...probably nearing 26."

Trevor looked mildly impressed. "Not bad. So you were a captain by 29. Pretty young."

Soap shrugged. "Sure."

"You know, some of our Ranger unit had been assigned to that task force for a short time."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You should of had Jacobs and Millers join the task force. I fought alongside of them on occasion." Trevor replied as he took a bite of dried food.

"I knew them. They were present for only one of the missions I was assigned to. Price was running the team at the time."

"No shit?" Shawn raised his eyebrows.

A very faint smirk pulled at Trevor's mouth. "Small world, isn't it?"

"And now here we are...climbing a frozen mountain to knock down a Taliban radio tower." Shawn shook his head. "I feel like I'm being mind-fucked right now."

"You do get confused easily." Trevor glanced at his brother.

"There's a glitch in the Matrix. I swear." Shawn's eyes were wide.

Trevor could only snicker at Shawn's awe. "It's not that uncommon. International elite forces joint-operating together. That's kind of what happens during wars."

"Yeah, yeah. Typical Trevor. Always gotta shoot down my miniscule episodes of entertainment." Shawn rolled his eyes while drinking from his canteen.

"Your turn." Soap sat up. "Price said all of you were Rangers."

"Well, except Reggie. He was Navy." Shawn commented.

"Right. But you other three. Must have been close to be that determined to stay together." Soap addressed with a smooth voice.

Trevor nodded slowly as he jutted a finger in Shawn's direction. "He followed in about four years after me and Samson. I was surprised he even passed selection. That was two years ago."

Shawn lowered his brow and peered over at his brother. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means you surprised me. That's all."

"...Uh huh…"

"Well, anyways, to answer your question, the best way to put it is that we'd all probably would have been pretty dysfunctional had it not been for our dedication to one another." Trevor lowered his head towards the ground.

"Yeah, you probably would have been shot on the streets had it not been for Samson convincing you to join the Army." Shawn claimed. Trevor quickly shot a disapproving stare over towards Shawn, who quickly recognized it and became quiet.

Trevor looked back towards Soap after staring his brother down. He could see Soap's curious eyes, but he knew the man wouldn't push for more information. Trevor sniffed and rolled his tongue within his mouth. "We were all escaping our previous lives. Or at least, that's what a person is doing when they choose to be enlisted. Following a passion, trying to find a purpose, searching for validity...escaping a life style. We all have our reasons for joining." His metallic eyes returned to Shawn. "And some of us like to keep that private."

Shawn looked to his hands as he chewed. He shrugged and mumbled, "No one here judges each other for certain choices. At the end of the day, we're all imperfect, sinful humans."

"Right. And we might as well live up to that expectation."

Shawn started to poke at his food. "Such is life."

Then, silence fell over the camp. Trevor had to rub his brow after placing his food down. He reached for the pocket on his bag as he pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it, he brought it to his mouth and inhaled on it. As he exhaled with a stressed sigh, a stream of haze poured out from between his lips. Soap's eyes fell back onto the fire as images from the past began to pour into his mind. Even he could feel depression beginning to creep up on him, it was something he had learned to fight off, and in the healthiest way he could muster. And that was done through his determination, willpower, and his ability to find comfort in something that made him remember the times before it got rough, and brought back the pleasant memories of his interactions with Price; he did that by picking up the habit of smoking cigars. Feeling those old, but all too familiar, emotions climbing up his spine and into his head, the urge to light one up as well began to grow inside.

He was planning on saving the one cigar he had packed up for the next day before they brought the tower down, but he decided against it as he retrieved the cigar from his bag. Trevor immediately tossed him a lighter. Flicking open the metal lighter and igniting the end of the cigar, he returned the lighter to its original owner by lobbing it over the flames.

"Thanks." Soap said. He received a simple nod in return. As he smoked on the cigar, he began to feel some of the tension disappear as he narrowed his eyes in thought. Pulling the smoke from his mouth, he began to speak. "Let's make a point to keep this fire lit tonight. It's the only thing preventing us from completely freezing our balls off."

"Take turns feeding the fire, then?" Shawn asked.

"Not like we're going to get much rest anyways," Trevor murmured through his cigarette.

Soap confirmed the question with a steady nod, and with that, they were ready to rest for the night.

Once morning time came, the men quickly ate, packed up their things, threw snow onto the fire to suppress the smoke, and began to return to climbing. Soap glanced at his wristwatch before returning his eyes to the approaching cliffside.

"We're getting close. Not much longer." As he neared the new found wall of ice, he began to dig his picks in and scrap and climb his way up. Trevor and Shawn followed shortly behind as the Scotsman led them along at a moderate pace.

Once elevated enough, he found an appropriate spot for a wedge and sunk it into the cranny. Creeping along the 40m wall of ice, the three of them kept their serious expressions plastered onto their faces.

Suddenly, the ice abruptly split and gave-in as Trevor planted a pick in. The ice cracked and shattered, sending a large shard of ice in Shawn's direction.

"Look out!" Trevor shouted, causing Shawn to look up with wide eyes.

"Shit!" He grunted as he pushed off the wall to his right and just barely avoided the collision. As he swayed, he panted heavily. Soap looked down, from in between his armpit and chest, as his feet and picks dug strongly into the ice. Trevor struggled to regain control, but quickly managed to dig his left pick back in after having dangling from one arm.

"You two alright down there?" Soap questioned through the whistling wind.

Trevor just returned the stare as Shawn released a heavy sigh. "Affirmative."

Soap watched as Shawn clamped back down to the surface again, and eventually returned to scaling the wall. Soap's pick hit the top layer and sent shards of ice shooting out. It was a soft spot. He furrowed his brow and reached further up to find a better support. He tugged on his pick verifying its safety before lifting himself further up.

"Careful up here. A few weak spots." He warned down towards the brothers as he panted. "We're a kilometer away. We need to keep our senses."

Trevor looked some ways up, only to be met with a few small particles of ice which immediately melted on his cheeks. The recent moment of potential bad luck was still lingering around them, and although neither said anything, they were all aware of the gloom that randomly loomed amongst them. Soap was beginning to grow agitated with the lack of strength within the ice. He pulled his attention up towards his upper left and reached out to place a pick into the frozen surface in that area.

Tugging it free carelessly, he had to lower his brow with frustration. "What the bloody hell is going on with this ice all of the sudden?" He grunted as he reached up to his right and finally secured a better grip.

From down below, Shawn removed the last wedge once Soap implanted another safety. Trevor blew air out of his mouth as he began to realize the sudden change in difficulty.

"You aren't fucking joking." He said with annoyance. "You'd think all of the way up here would mean stronger ice."

Just as Trevor finished his sentence, Soap's foot slipped and forced him to hang from one arm. Bringing his legs back up, his spiked boots landed into the side of the ice and found zero to no footing. He cursed as he launched his other pick into the ice, providing more support. Trevor watched him with alertness as Soap fumbled to regain control.

Soap bit his lip as he slammed the sharp points on his boots into the ice finally allowing him to attain his footing. Eventually realizing he was back in the game, Soap resumed to scaling the wall where Trevor and Shawn returned to following.

The next 20m were a cakewalk compared to the 15m before. They were finally getting the top of the cliff into their sights. Soap allowed an exasperated sigh to escape through his nostrils as the edge grew closer and closer. After another 15 minutes, Soap's picks finally reached the top.

But then without warning, a weight forcefully pulled back at him as the sound of shattering ice and a panicked shout emitted from below him. The sheet of ice from underneath Shawn had given-in and crumbled, forcing him to release his only hold and sway freely in the air. The amount of extra weight caused Trevor to flinch and Soap to grit his teeth as he strengthened his grip around the handles of the two ice picks. Shawn quickly moved his eyes downwards towards the sheet of ice that was now plummeting towards the surface below as it disappeared through the clouds of haze. It was easily 3m in diameter. His frozen breath poured out from his mouth in a series of pants.

Trevor growled and looked over his shoulder. "Fuck, Shawn!"

Shawn quickly shot his attention up towards Trevor's disapproving stare. "What, Trevor? I didn't fucking do it on purpose!"

"Quit yelling!" Soap ordered from his position up top. He lowered his voice more as he allowed a low rumble to emit from the back of his throat. "We don't need the rest of the mountain to fall on our heads."

Trevor watched Shawn swing in the wind. "Come on, bro. Start climbing up."

Shawn shifted his body as he reached for the top layer of the mountain wall. At the moment, his picks were almost useless, for now the only surface to cling to was the base surface of slate-grey stone that had once clung to the ice.

"Ugh, don't think I ice is gone." Shawn replied as his eyes darted around.

Soap looked up towards the edge of the crag that was near the ends of his picks. "Trevor," he spoke, causing Trevor to peer up at him. "Just start climbing again. I'm almost to the top. We'll have to pull Shawn up until he can reach some ice to grab."

Trevor nodded at him as he struggled to pull his weight, and now Shawn's added weight, along. Soap was able to swipe an arm back and implant the final blow of his pick into the top of the cliff before him and managed to bring himself up onto the surface. He heaved before turning around to snag the ropes and begin the start of the tedious task of pulling the brothers along. Once Soap's strength was added to the mix, Trevor was able to speed along at a better pace, allowing Shawn to near a new sheet of ice. Eventually, Shawn was able to continue his climb with a heavy exhale as Trevor finally made it to the top.

Once all three were on a solid landing, they quickly moved on and continued their journey through the snow on foot. After what seemed to be centuries, a red blinking light became visible through the dancing snow and icy air. Soap's eyes locked onto it before lowering his brow with determination.

"That's probably it. But let's get a confirmation on it first." Soap stated as he quickened his pace.

The sight of the tip of the radio tower was relieving. Trevor and Shawn accelerated and were now running alongside Soap as they trudged through the frozen layer of earth. Finally, the base of the radio tower was now standing monumentally over them. They looked over the four supports and observed the thick metal beams that held it in place.

Shawn pulled his head back and looked up towards the top. "Bigger than I expected."

Soap moved passed him as he began to check the signals and frequencies. Getting the reading he wanted, he nodded with approval. "Positive ID. Let's bring this shite down."

Shawn let loose a 'whoop' as the three of them began removing C4 from their bags and securing it all safely onto the metal and concrete base of the supports. Soap pointed at one of the legs. "Put two charges on this back supports here. Gravity should do the rest."

With that order now in the air, they all hastily fastened the C4 onto the designated areas and once satisfaction was reached, they removed themselves from the area and to a distant location. Trevor held the remote in his hand as Soap gave him a nod of confirmation. With the command signaled, Trevor's finger pushed down on the button and triggered the C4 to explode. The men sat in silence as the world around them reverberated and the echo of the mass explosion sounded off of the many peaks and pinnacles. They watched from their elevated position with content as a ball of smoke began to form in the sky.


	13. Start of the Darkness

Alright...this chapter gets a bit dark. Somewhat of a shorter chapter. I figured because it's so...weird...that I couldn't really tie in any other ideas and plotline into it without seeming forced.

* * *

**Chapter 11 - Start of the Darkness  
**

"Tu pequeño pedazo de mierda. (You little piece of shit.)"

A man hung suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. His bare, thin chest heaved up and down as his panicked, wide eyes bulged from his head and observed the dark faces before him. Blood streamed down from his head and ran across the curve of his dark complected cheek. The rest of his visible skin was littered in gashes and drying, crimson blood. The only light in the room was a skylight that allowed an eerie white light to shine down onto him as he dangled in the center of the room. Many hidden eyes watched him closely.

Arsenio opened his palms out before him. "Usted va a hablar? ¿O va a seguir siendo una pequeña perra? (Are you going to talk? Or are you going to continue being a little bitch?)" The man hanging before him was trembling nervously as he stuttered for words. "Ah, sí? No tienes nada? Fine. (Oh? You got nothing? Fine.)" Hauling back, he sent a haymaker towards the man, the brass knuckles cracked against his face.

He coughed and whimpered as blood rushed to the new found injury. The man opened his mouth to beg. "Por favor, Arsenio. Yo no sé nada. (Please, Arsenio. I don't know anything.)"

"Oh sí? ¿Puedes explicarme por qué nuestros vendedores italianos han utilizado específicamente su nombre? ¿Y por qué usted les dijo que sería una sabia decisión de dividir el vasos último minuto? (Oh yeah? Can you explain to me why our Italian sellers have specifically used your name? And why you told them it'd be a wise decision to split up the vessels last minute?)" Arsenio began to laugh as an amused smile spread across his face. "Dime cómo sabía que algo estaba a punto de salir mal. ¿Cómo saber que nos gustaría tener algunos invitados inoportunos en que el envío de Italia? (Tell me how you knew something was about to go wrong. How did you know that we'd have some unwelcomed guests on that shipment from Italy?)"

The man blinked wearily with a swollen brow and cheeks. He could only breathe heavily as blood still flooded from his open wounds. His eyes began to close with fatigue as his world danced and spun.

Arsenio sent another solid punch into the man's temple before grabbing the groove between his neck and shoulder. He pulled himself inches away from the injured man's face. "Jodido respóndeme, que rata. (Fucking answer me, you rat.)" His words came out like a hiss.

The man slowly shook his head as air continued to blow thickly out of his throat. "Yo simplemente era el mensajero. Yo no hice nada. (I simply was the messenger. I didn't do anything.)"

Arsenio pushed his tongue against his cheek as he nodded slowly. "No te hagas el tonto. Conozco a alguien que vendió por esa información. (Don't play stupid. I know someone sold you out for that information.)"

The man continued to shake his head but only to receive another blow. He began to plead. "Por favor, Arsenio! Tienes que creerme! Yo no sé nada! (Please, Arsenio! You have to believe me! I don't know anything!)" He choked on some blood and spit it out onto the floor. "Por favor...por favor…"

Arsenio pulled back and watched the man's face before letting out a bellowing laugh of amusement. "Usted me está entreteniendo. ¿Estoy realmente supone que crea eso? Así que sólo convenientemente pasó a tener 10.000 dólares americanos en usted? ¿Eh? (You are entertaining me. Am I really supposed to believe that? So you just conveniently happened to have 10,000 American dollars on you? Eh?)" He had to shake his head and flash his wide, white smile towards his brother off near the corner. "Usted escuchar esta mierda? (You hearing this bullshit?)"

His older brother, Fernando nodded slowly with a grim expression. The lines on his face were deep. "Olvídese Pedro. Nosotros no lo necesitamos. Ha hecho suficiente daño como es. (Forget Pedro. We don't need him. He's done enough damage as it is.)"

Arsenio's eyes shot towards Pedro and stared him down with a minancing glow. "Si cambia de idea, sin embargo, Pedro? ¿Quieres terminar como alimento para los cerdos? (Changing your mind yet, Pedro? Want to end up as food for the pigs?)"

Pedro dropped his head and began to mutter meekly. "Yo no lo hice. Uno de los hombres de Albini es quien me dio el dinero. (I didn't do it. One of Albini's men is who gave me the money.)"

Arsenio's mouth went flat as his brow lowered into a scowl. "Tú nos has dicho que ya. ¿Cuál era su nombre? Necesitamos saber quién lo hizo. He estado tratando con tu mierda durante tres días. Estoy perdiendo la paciencia. (You've told us that already. What was his name? We need to know who did it. I've been dealing with your shit for three days now. I'm losing my patience.)" Pedro let his head hang as he stared at the ground motionless. Arsenio grabbed his jaw harshly and raised his face up. "¿Quién carajo era?! (WHO THE FUCK WAS IT?)"

The man only could move his lips with inaudible words as his eyes remained shut. It had been three days since a decent meal, and he had been suspended during the entire stretch of time. His vision and mind were hazey.

Arsenio spat into his face. "Vete a la mierda. (Fuck you.)" He pulled a red handkerchief out of his white suit pocket and began to clean off his brass knuckles, removing all visible traces of blood. "Ya he terminado con esta mierda. Tengo cosas mejores que hacer frente a estos momentos. (I'm done with this shit. I've got better things to deal with right now.)" He nodded towards his men before glancing back at the hanging man. "Parece que podría ir para un nuevo conjunto de ropa de vestir. Permitir a mis hombres que le proporcionan una corbata colombiana. (You look like you could go for a new set of dress clothes. Allow my men to provide you with a Columbian necktie.)"

Pedro quickly looked up as his eyes popped open. He shook his head violently. "¡No! Arsenio! ¡Por favor! Yo te he hecho nada malo! (No! Arsenio! Please! I've done you no wrong!)"

Arsenio waved him off. "Usted arruinó mi traje nuevo. Tengo que llevarlo a la tintorería ahora. (You ruined my new suit. I have to bring it to the dry cleaners now.)" He immediately gestured for his brother. "Fernando, vamos."

The two brothers left the room as three men approached the suspended man. He began to thrash and scream with what energy he had left as one of the men revealed a rusty machete. He continued shouting and begging for a final plea, but he was cut short and interrupted as the rusted edge of the machete found his throat and slashed it open. Blood gargled and poured from his throat, which were followed by a series of choked groans and screams. The man wielding the machete jabbed a portion of it through Pedro's jugular, forcing the flesh to separate. Reaching through the opened wound, one of Arsenio's men snagged the muscle and tissue of his tongue and pulled it free from his mouth and out of the fresh hole in his neck. The men stepped back to look at their work as Pedro emitted his last dying breaths. Blood covered the floor below him, and dripped steadily into a pool of crimson liquid. The scene was gruesome, as the long muscle of his tongue dangled from the gash in his neck and hung sloppily against his chest.

* * *

_A faint fluorescent light hummed quietly above a dark, concrete floor. Bugs tapped against its surface as dust danced in the little, white luminance. Soap watched the bugs closely, far too awed by their unnatural movements as they buzzed with incoordination and chaotic movements. The only noise was the droning of the small, caged light which hung by a single wire. Then his ears caught the sound of...sobbing? Someone was sobbing quietly. Looking up some ways, his eyes found a small figure hunched over, trembling profusely. The faint light only cast a small hint of highlights on the figure's form, but it appeared frail. Narrowing his eyes and growing curious, his legs began to move him along._

_The sobbing increased in volume as he approached. He felt mild fear crawling over him, but as he neared, the fear was starting to be replaced by concern; the figure looked familiar. His strides widened, speeding up his pace and placing him several feet away from the crying figure, which head hung low and face remained hidden in its arms which were drawn up before its knees._

_The figure had long, straight, dark hair. It was a dark-ash brown hair, a few strands of silver ran along the top surface. Forcing himself to get closer, he realized the figure was a women. As he watched, the familiarity of all of this was oddly disturbing. Her shoulders shook with sadness as the sobbing became more dragged out and prolonged. Suddenly, she spoke._

_"Oh, John. Why did you have to leave?"_

_His eyebrows lowered as the voice rung a bell. Who was she?_

_"How can you expect me to live life in fear like this all of the time?"_

_He finally brought himself by her side with abruptness as his mind allowed for him to come to terms with realization. This sobbing woman was his mother._

_"Why did you have to die?" She said quietly._

_Feeling frightened, he lowered a comforting hand and placed it on her shoulder. "Mum. I'm not dead, I'm right here." When his voice came out, it scared him. It was unrecognizable. It was robotic, almost as if he had used a computer to speak for him. Pulling back and placing a hand on his throat, he blinked with confusion._

_His mother stopped crying to slowly raise her head up, but her rounded, softened features remained hidden behind her dark hair. "You are not my son."_

_He was speechless, and was also weary of speaking again; fearing that sound. He could only stare at her as he tried to reassure her with his touch that it was in fact him._

_"You can't fool me. My son died years ago. After he left." Her voice was starting to sound low and threatening. "John was sweet and loving. Wouldn't hurt a fly. But you-" she finally turned her face towards him, revealing an empty space where her eyes should have been. He brought himself up out of startlement. "But you are dark. You are a mindless killer. You took my son. You took him and won't let him free."_

_She continued to spew out more incantations and hostile words as her voice elevated in sound. Feeling a cold and clammy fear tingling all over his body, he stumbled backwards and knocked into something. Trying to regain his balance, he quickly spun around to be met by a new face. It was Ricochet. She stood still, only in solid black undergarments, and stared into his face with sunken eyes. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and the only light in the room gave her a white and ghastly glow. He swallowed hard and looked her over with distraught._

_Without saying a word, and without moving her soul-reading stare, she slowly rose an arm and pointed a thin finger towards a distant object. Unable to resist, he allowed his eyes to follow the gesture until they found a single, closed-off door at the far end of the room. It revealed a second light in the room, but it only remained above the door. The light on the door remained oddly contained in one area, and refused to light up any of the surrounding environment._

_He breathed heavily from his mouth as he straightened his posture and began to walk for the door. Something compelled him to venture forth, and journey into the unknown. Once he reached the door, after what seemed like centuries, he sluggishly peered over his shoulder, only to see Ricochet still standing with an outstretched arm. But now, his mother was standing next to her, also pointing._

_He paused before finally forcing his hand to fall onto the knob of the beaten, metal door; the surface paint was peeling off, revealing a sheet of rust underneath. His hand slowly turned the knob as his other hand found the door's face and steadily pushed open the door. It creaked heavily, way more than any normal sized door. It sounded like an iron jail cell door sliding open._

_Once the door was jarred open enough, he brought himself inside. The room was pitch black, and without warning the only exit behind him slammed shut. For a short moment, the only sound was his own heart and his heavy exhales. Suddenly, a dreary light flicked on in the center of a room, but it wasn't a man-made light, it was the light from a window. But the light from outside was red, and splashed the room with maroon and outlandish hues._

_The sound of a vicious bark could be heard from the opposite end. His eyes followed the source, only to find Gretel, Ricochet's German Shepherd, growling and snarling at the end of a chain. It wasn't like the Gretel he had seen, she looked feral and full of rabid rage. He held his breath as she stood on her hind legs and tugged on the chain, showing her long, white fangs._

_Then, he heard a series of cries and whimpers to his left, opposite of the viciously barking dog. His eyes moved away from Gretel and found small children being held by their mothers. Each face was stained in tears of blood as they clung to each other in fear. He was frozen. He couldn't move. Confusion and despair surrounded and danced around him like a crowd of street entertainers._

_Abruptly, more figured appeared at the center of the room. Once they became present, Soap was met with the image of half-nude men, hanging from meat hooks and gutted from the centers. Their insides and entrails hung from their cores and swayed slowly with their lifeless bodies. Then the smell. The smell was a mixture of metal, ozone, and rotten death. His hand found his nose as his eyes began to water at the sight of a man in all white beating the life out of a tied up man. Soap watched motionless as the white-suited man, with no face, landed several powerful punches onto a defenseless man, who wept and begged for mercy._

_Growing disgusted, the white clothed man took a step back, muttered something inaudible to the surrounding darkness, and then, three more men appeared from within the dark abyss. It was as if he had summoned death. Continuing with his gibberish, the man in all white finished his sentence, emitted an inhuman chuckle, and vanished back into the dark. Gretel barked and snarled furiously as he walked past._

_The three shadow men now stood before the heavily panting, bleeding man who trembled against his ties. Without warning, all three men began stabbing the man as he yelped and hollered for forgiveness. An unnatural amount of blood shot out in a hose-like stream from each new puncture wound._

_Growing suddenly determined, Soap removed his hand from his face and tried to run for the man in attempts of rescuing him from his attackers. But a force held him back, something strong landed on his shoulder. It was a strong grip, and it clamped down like a vice-grip, it was enough to make him wince and turn to face the source._

_His eyes found Price, but the old man appeared grave and grey. He was back in his attire from the gulag: dark, ragged clothes, a filthy beanie, and an almost savage stare._

_Price pulled himself closer to Soap, their noses nearly inches from their each other, as he emitted a grim whisper. "You can't save him. Don't waste your time."_

_Soap's brow lowered. He wanted to speak, but nothing came out._

_Price brought his mouth next to Soap's ear as he continued to speak. "Don't ever follow the light. It'll be the death of you. Stay in the dark. Here. With me. It's where we belong."_

_Growing terrified and devastated by the old man's words, Soap pulled away and took several steps back. Then the sound of breaking metal emitted from the back corner. Gretel's chain had snapped loose at the links._

_Spinning around with sudden realization and fear, Soap was met head on by a leaping, feral German Shepherd, whose mouth and jaw opened up and displayed a set of dangerous teeth. In midair, she shapeshifted. Her structure became malformed and displaced as it changed into the image of a boar. Her once long, threatening teeth turned into dangerous and sharp tusks._

_Trying to stop the lunge, Soap felt a tremendously sharp pain shoot through his abdomen. Peering down, he noticed the boar's tusk had gored its way through his core. His eyes saw the blood leaving the wound as it began to shake its head back and forth with an intent to kill. His strong hands found the boar's head and pushed with all of his might, but the wild pig didn't budge._

Soap's eyes shot open as he launched from his bed, nearly tumbling to the floor in the process. He panted heavily as his trembling hands fumbled with his sheets before finding his stomach. Through the moderate amount of stomach hair, he felt something raised. Panicking, he reached for his table lamp as his sweaty fingers struggled to find the switch. Finally getting a decent grip around the switch's knob, the lamp light flicked on. He looked down at his stomach only to see the grooves in his muscles, and of course, the large scar that sat against his cream-tinted skin. His mind quickly flashed images in his head from his devastating fall back in Prague.

He blinked at the raised surface of the scar before heaving a heavy sigh and peering up from his hands and towards the door. His heart thumped recklessly behind his ribs. That dream was like nothing he had ever experienced before. On occasion, he had some dark dreams and night terrors, but nothing ever that vivid. His skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat as he struggled to regain control of his breathing.

He rubbed his brow with fatigue before moving his eyes away from the door and towards Price's bed off in the opposite corner. It was empty. He lowered his eyebrows and straightened his posture as he stared confused in the direction of the vacant bed. His eyes immediately spotted the difference with the room and layout.

Staring blankly, his eyes ran over the wall of faces, images, text, and maps that sat above Price's bed. Then, mugshots and profiles of familiar faces hung by strings from the ceiling. They weren't there when Soap had found his place in bed. Had the old man just put all of that up? Slowly rising out of bed, he moved across the floor and placed himself in the center of it all. His heart only continued to thump within his chest as he looked over the many faces before him.

He stared into the eyes of Vladimir Makarov, Imran Zakhaev, Jonathan Shepherd, and now, the Vazquez family: Roberto, Fernando, Arsenio, and Esteban. Several of the faces had red X's drawn across them, it was apparent that the ones' whose faces were now covered in red were the ones who were now deceased. Soap swallowed hard as he glanced towards the wall littered in paper which revealed images of Cuban and Italian maps, copies of written documents...the works. This behavior was immediately recognized by Soap. Price had a tendency to grow obsessed with the need to be fueled by something. Whether it was justice or revenge, the old man had a way of clinging to that particular drive.

Soap had grown used to it, but it also made him nervous. The man would become very distant, intolerant, and rather dark when he'd become absorbed in the negativity. But, Soap understood. He had felt the same betrayal, hatred, anger, and need for redemption. However, the Scotsman had believed that was all behind them, and now, it didn't seem to be the case.

His grey eyes scanned the faces he stood within; the threatening eyes stared back at him, causing him to grow uneasy and restless. Tugging lightly on the ends of his boxer-briefs, he snaked out of the presence of the many faces and placed himself next to his bed once again, where he stared down at the sheets. They looked damp. Realizing how much he had sweat, he began to feel clammy and apprehensive as he recalled the dream he had moments before.

No longer feeling compelled to stay in the room he threw on a white shirt, which covered the muscles and scars on his body, and a pair of loose sweat pants. He slowly removed himself from the room, but not without glancing back at the plethora of papers Price had strewn all over his side of the space. He let the door close softly behind him.

He began to move his way down the hallway, heading for the door that led to the outside. His eyes scanned the few doors that covered the walls on the venture down towards the exit. Some doors remained shut, while others were cracked open. Seeing the doors had his mind immediately ponder over his dream once again. At this point, it was more of a nightmare than a dream. He swore his stomach still ached from receiving that tusk to his abdomen. The fluorescent fixtures that lit the hall appeared dimmer than usual, he figured it was his mind messing with his vision. The space felt oddly grey and eerie.

Finally finding himself standing on the outside, with fresh, cool air surrounding him, his legs continued to guide him towards the many barracks. Once he reached the door to the showers, he hesitated before bringing himself inside. Soap found himself standing before a mirror after having made a quick pit-stop at the restroom. His jaw clenched as he stared over his features. He looked ill and startled. His skin appeared pale and contrasted heavily with his dark eyebrows and hair. The bags under his eyes were prominent and the depths of his frosty irises were full of torment. Turning on the faucet, he splashed some cold water against his face before drying off and heading back on outside.

Soap wasn't ready to head back to bed. He wanted to find Price. He still hadn't seen one form of life yet, and it was suddenly beginning to scare him. The nighttime sky was barely lit by the crescent moon, which remained mostly hidden behind foggy, blue clouds. He followed the dirt path, which led him to the mess hall. He wanted a distraction and the quickest, healthiest fix was to grab a bite to eat. He reached for his key to gain access inside after having reached the door.

He grew confused when he noticed the door was already unlocked; he followed through by carefully pushing open the door with his wide-palmed hand. It swung open with ease, revealing the inside of the mess hall. The kitchen was on the far end. Despite the door having been unlocked, no one was visible. His eyes scanned the area briefly before hearing what he thought was soft voices. Feeling curious, he followed the noises towards the kitchen and moved himself through the threshold where he was immediately met by wide-eyed stares.

Ricochet and Shorty had quickly peered over at him in the doorway. They both fell quiet momentarily, before Ricochet opened her mouth to speak but was cut short by Shorty's words.

"Oh, it's you. What are you doing up, Chin?"

"I couldn't sleep. Mind if I ask the same question?" His eyes stared into hers from across the room.

Ricochet let a faint smile pull at her cheeks. "Same for us."

Soap nodded at them before looking over his shoulder. "Have you lasses seen Price around?"

"No. Why?" Ricochet asked as Shorty took a bite from a Fig Newton bar.

Soap's light eyes found Ricochet's aqua orbs. "He wasn't in the room."

"So the old man is up and roaming about as well?" Shorty commented after swallowing.

"Apparently." Soap replied as he ran his tongue over his teeth. He straightened his posture and ambled across the kitchen and towards the cabinets.

Shorty looked him over. "What are you doing?"

"Getting something to eat." His eyes glanced at her from the corner of his vision. "That a problem?"

"We don't need you getting into the habit of feeding yourself late at night."

He opened a cabinet and ignored her remark. His eyes ran over the contents in the cabinet before deciding on some fruit. Both women watched him quietly as he pulled a banana out and turned on his heels. His back found the face of the cabinet door while his eyes watched his hands peel the banana skin back. Feeling the stares, he quickly looked up towards the women.

"What?"

Shorty chewed on the inside of her cheek as Rico leaned forward from her seat on the counter. "You look bothered. You alright?" Rico asked with sincerity.

He was bothered, but he wasn't about to confirm it to them. Instead, he nodded slowly and lowered his brow. "I'm fine." He took a bite from the banana and raised it towards them. "Hope you two find some rest tonight." Straightening his posture, he headed for the door.

"Sure thing, Chin." Shorty murmured.

"You too." Ricochet replied.

He nodded his head at her as he passed. As he walked for the exit, he could hear the girls return to their conversations. Soap was about to give up the search for Price after checking the barrack which housed the courses and gym equipment. Heaving a steady sigh, he tossed the banana peel into a nearby trashcan and began to head back for his room; he figured Price would surface eventually.

Soap found himself standing outside of his shared bedroom door once again. He remained in place as he noticed the door had been jarred. Furrowing his brow and placing a hand onto the door, he eased it open. His eyes quickly found Price standing off by the side of his bed, tinkering with some object held within his hands. Not wanting to startle the old man from his focus, Soap tapped a knuckle against the doorframe as he brought himself inside. The door closed quietly behind him.

Without removing his attention from the task before him, Price spoke hoarsely. "Why are you up?"

Soap's legs moved him smoothly across the room as he approached the center of the room. He paused several feet away from Price. "Couldn't sleep."

"Hmm." Price murmured as he began to thread a string through a hole he had punched through the paper in his hands. "That's been happening a lot as of late."

Soap watched the old man's movements. He knew what Price was getting at, but was wanting to play ignorant. "What are you implying?"

"You've been tossing around at night."

"Do I keep you up?"

"No." Price's eyes finally moved towards Soap's stare. "If it wasn't already apparent, I don't sleep much to start with." His mannerisms were oddly calm for a man most likely suffering from sleep deprivation.

On cue, Soap looked over towards the collage of maps and images Price had plastered to the wall. He gestured his head towards it. "I see you've started a new project."

Price's stern expression relaxed into an entertained smile. "Getting to know the enemy."

Soap nodded slowly. "And what's with the already deceased? Shepherd? Makarov?"

Suddenly, Price's mouth and brow went flat. "A reminder."

Soap's light eyes studied Price's face closely. The old man was...a bit off his rocker. Soap knew it. In fact, he had known it for a long while. After fatefully reuniting with Price in the gulag, Soap immediately noticed that the man had changed, that he had finally fallen victim to the mental exhaustion of war and was no longer fazed by it. Despite Price's seemingly new and unstable ways, Soap was dedicated to him; he felt this certain bond and commitment towards Price, and he was willing to go through every turmoil with him. In a sense, there was also a protective aspect within the relationship, Soap wanted to be Price's backbone whenever called upon. He was a loyal dog. However, he was also sensing that it was perhaps time to vocalize concern.

"Price. This should be in our past now."

Price paused and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Soap gestured towards the images of faces hanging from the ceiling. "The distraught from our past. These men. The one's who are dead now. You said it yourself, 'our truth dies with us should we fail, but not if we kill them first'." He had to take a moment to clench his jaw and ponder over his words. "So why do you need this reminder? Is our truth not valid anymore?"

"Soap." Price began stringing up a new face, whom Soap did not recognize. "We can't forget why we're here, and how we got here. We need that reminder not to give strangers the honors of obtaining our trust. We're soldiers of darkness and misgiving, we represent the hardships and debacles that many faced during the war. And I don't plan on entertaining one with petty pleasantries and adherence."

Soap's heart skipped a beat as he swallowed hard. "...Soldiers of darkness?"

"Yes." Price responded confidently, but quickly noticed Soap's suddenly pale complexion. He crossed his arms and observed him with entanglement. "You've been having dreams."

Soap didn't respond but merely nodded steadily.

"What do they pertain to?"

The large Scotsman peered off at the table lamp and then towards his jumbled bed. "They're odd and unpleasant." His eyes found Price's stoic stare. "Just worry about yourself, old man."

"Never said I was worried." He then returned to his work. "It's 0332 hours. Get back to sleep. We're running to town tomorrow morning."

Without replying, Soap simply went to his cot and took a seat. His eyes ran over the floor and walls. He was stuck on the idea of being a 'soldier of darkness'. Whatever that meant. Whether it was a good or bad thing, it sounded menacing and unwelcoming; he wasn't quite sure that being this 'soldier of darkness' was something he wanted. It made him ponder over the idea of no longer feeling like he had much of an identity anymore, yet, he clung desperately to what he knew and understood about himself. He knew he wasn't the type capable of detaching himself, despite how beneficial it may be in certain gruesome scenarios. Lately, he felt like a common theme around here was 'not forgetting to still be a human'. And even something that basic sounding still managed to be a complicated concept to comprehend.

He finally pulled himself completely into the bed and rested his head and back up against the wall. His head was slightly cocked at Price who had quietly returned to his work. Soap didn't like it. His mouth was beginning to feel dry as he watched the old man calmly work, and eventually call it a night after hanging up a final face from the ceiling; the face bore deep, brown eyes and a grim frown.

Before sliding into his sheets, Price spoke once more. "Don't over analyze any of this, Soap. I know how you get. Sometimes there's only one dimension to a seemingly complex conceptualization. And where we are finding ourselves now, doesn't need any explaining or elaborating. Just follow your heart. It hasn't misguided you yet."

Soap wanted to disagree but Price ended the conversation by snapping the light off. Darkness filled the room and it caused Soap to sink into his bed until he was ready to flip over onto his side and face the wall with a blank stare. He could only hope and wish the next day wouldn't bring a world of gloom before him.


	14. Raging Smart-Asses

So, I suppose that MAYBE the last chapter might have been a little bit too dark...I noticed I had a lot of visitors on it but not a lot of people stayed to finish the chapter. Sorry if that was too violent. Unfortunately, there's more to come, the story definitely takes on a roller-coaster effect. With that being said, this next chapter is low-key, and let's us see more of the characters in action.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Raging Smart-Asses**

"Soap. Get up."

Soap let his eyelids flutter open as his vision focused onto the table lamp. He blinked slowly with his face partially covered by the bend in his strong arm.

"Soap. Get your arse up."

His attention was finally pulled away from the lamp as he sat up and met Price's sky-blue eyes. The old man looked oddly alert. Price stared sternly into Soap's face from several feet away from the footing of the Scotsman's bed. He noticed Soap's mildly confused expression.

"Feeling delirious from being stirred out of your coma-state?" Price questioned while crossing his arms.

Soap ran his large hand through his dark hair as he pondered. "What's going on?"

He was suddenly hit in the face by a change of clothes. "You overslept. It's almost 0630 hours. You're minutes away from missing our scheduled morning run."

Growing surprised, Soap quickly reached for the wristwatch on his table and peered at the face. Somehow he managed to snooze right through the obnoxious beeping of his wristwatch. His eyes shot up towards Price who had to heave a sigh.

"Get changed and meet on the runway in five minutes. We're taking a 7 km jog to Gracac to eat breakfast. Sounds fun, right?" Price scratched his nose with contempt.

"When was that decided on? Breakfast in Gracac?" Soap questioned while immediately pulling himself out of bed to switch shirts.

"Always with the questions. Time to get out of your daze and get your arse moving. See you in 5 minutes." Price turned on his heels to leave.

Soap watched him closely before throwing the freshly cleaned, navy blue, cotton shirt over his head. Quickly switching into some practical pants, he slipped his grey combat shoes on and headed for the door. The old man had such a way with words.

Once outside, Soap was met with the image of all of the field soldiers standing and waiting patiently on the runway, even the pilots had shown up. The only one seemingly out of place was Lydia, the medic assigned permanently to the base. As Soap approached them all, he locked onto the quick stares of several amused eyes.

Ivan threw his hand into the air and emitted a loud, Russian laced sentence. "Ay! The Scotsman showed up!"

"Good morning, sleepy head." Trevor murmured to Soap as he walked past in search of an open spot amongst the group.

Soap nodded his head at them all.

"You know it's bad when Shorty, the out of shape helicopter pilot, shows up before one of our field unit members." Shawn commented with a smirk as he immediately flinched from a well-placed punch to the shoulder from Shorty.

"What the hell, Shawn!" She stated with disbelief. "You're supposed to be the nice one."

He had to chuckle as he flashed her a wide smile.

"Shawn's secretly a huge asshole." Reggie stated with his usual amused tone.

Samson stepped up before all of them. "Alright. Enough chatter. By now, you all know why we're all standing here. I figured it'd be slightly enjoyable to get a change of scenery for once, and could relish in the idea of having a minor adjustment to our usual breakfast menu options. So, last minute, I decided to make a plan to have us all jog down to town to eat in a restaurant. At least the members who wanted to."

"Yay." Shawn cheered lowly from his position in the center of the group.

"So, let's see…" Samson rose his wrist out before his face and began to adjust his timer. "A 7 km jog should take us all roughly 40 minutes, assuming all of us keep a good pace-"

"He's implying that some of us here are fat-asses and will be lagging behind." Reggie claimed as he let his arms out before him. "If anyone needed that clarification."

"I swear to God...if you're referring to me again I will ram my fist so hard into your left nut that you won't be able to have children." Shorty shot a quick, threatening glance in his direction.

"Reggie doesn't need to have children. One Reggie is enough as it is." Shawn said as he lowered to stretch out his hamstrings.

Samson nodded his head with a faint smile as he gestured towards everyone. "Ok, so everyone take a five minute session of stretching and hydration before we set off. Sound good?"

Everyone agreed as they immediately began to stretch out their bodies and drink from their water bottles that had been distributed earlier before. Samson walked over towards Soap to hand him one. Soap gestured his head with gratitude as Samson began to amble back towards his position near the front.

A brief moment of silence filled the space around them as they took a moment to become immersed into their thoughts. Suddenly, Soap felt his arm get tapped while bent over his center of gravity to reach for the pavement. His light eyes found the owner to the hand, only to be met with a wide grin from Reggie. Quickly, Reggie gestured a sneaky hand out before their faces. Soap followed it only to find the image of Shorty and Ricochet's rears a few feet out in front of them. Soap had to utter a swift and quiet snicker as he shook his head and returned his attention back to his hands which lay flat against the runway. Reggie laughed, causing a few people to glance at him.

After the five minutes had passed, Samson's wristwatch emitted a series of beeps, before he promptly turned off the sound and rose to grab everyone's attention. "Let's go."

Everyone brought themselves up into a ready position as Price and Samson began to lead the group. The group of eleven members jogged in decent formation for a good portion of the time. After a solid ten minutes had passed, Shorty's pace began to slow down slightly, forcing Soap to have to move past her. His stride continued to carry him up closer to where Trevor and Price were placed.

"Oh, look at that. Soap is just so much better than us. Running ahead like some pompous prick." Reggie commented jokingly from his location back near Ricochet and Ivan. He whispered something to Ivan, causing the Russian pilot to chuckle with hilarity.

"Man, you're crazy. So fucking crazy." Ivan stated bluntly with a wide smile.

A few other smiles appeared. Soap could sense a set of stares land onto the back of him. He wasn't one for enjoying being in the spotlight, and he was beginning to fear Reggie was picking up on that.

"Look, he doesn't know how to reply because he's too presumptuous to care." Reggie continued.

Trevor sent a quick glance in Soap's direction and spoke lowly. "Obviously, the best thing to do right now is just to ignore him."

"That's why I'm practicing a silent treatment." Soap replied with a deep voice.

"A quick word of advice though, sometimes a silent treatment doesn't always work. But for now, it works because he can't see your face." Trevor responded as he allowed his eyes to fall off to the distant pathway leading down a hill.

"I'll take note."

"Hey, Soap. I'm surprised your massive Scottish D doesn't weigh you down. You run pretty well despite that physical feature you possess." Reggie laughed.

Ivan let out a bellowing burst of laughter. Soap could only let a distraught look appear on his face as he sighed loudly.

After another set of time had passed, everyone's thoughts got interrupted by a startled, quick scream.

"Ugh, Reggie! Watch where you're running!" Shorty hollered at him as he passed her up. His foot had landed on the back of her shoe, causing her to 'blow a wheel'.

"Run faster then, critten!" Reggie claimed with a raised voice as Ricochet and Ivan came to a stop to assist her in staying with the rest of the group.

"That fucking jackass…" Shorty mumbled as she slid her shoe back on.

Ricochet placed her hands on her hips as she breathed through her mouth. "He feeds off of your despair."

Ivan chuckled. "Let's get a move on, little lady. We got to do some catching up now."

"Yeah yeah, you commie." She muttered with little amusement.

"It's 2017! We are no longer in our Red Army days!" Ivan said as she finally rose to return to running.

"But the communist blood still courses through you."

As always, Ivan laughed with enjoyment at the sienna-skinned woman. Quickening their paces, they eventually caught up to the tail-end of the group.

"Welcome back, slackers." Shawn said with a harmless smile.

"God damn, between you and Reggie I might have to put a bullet into each of yours foot." Ricochet fired back with an equally as facetious wide smile. "You two need to have a drink."

"Or a good smack-down." Shorty added-in.

"Or they need to get laid." Trevor broke his streak of silence with a flat tone.

Shawn looked towards him with raised eyebrows. "Who the fuck here doesn't?"

"I know who!" Reggie bellowed with a smile.

Samson quickly shot him a disapproving stare. "Reggie. Shut up."

Reggie immediately fell quiet as Shawn mocked him. "Ooooh, someone got put in their place-"

"Shawn, you too." Samson was quick to nip-it.

Shawn let his shoulders drop as Price was ready to speak. "I can tell half of you had an extra dose of muppet this morning. Keep it up and I'll lay out a pleasant and tedious work-out schedule for you all for when we get back."

On cue, everyone fell quiet. Most of them were merely excited about the change in their schedule, and it was just simply getting to them. Who would have thought that something as simple as eating a meal out one time could be so uplifting to the soldiers?

Once the near 40 minute mark hit, a good portion of the group had made it to the center of Gracac, where they stood and waited patiently for the rest while they caught their breaths. After a short two minute wait, Shorty broke into the clearing with Lydia, Mark, and Ivan by her side. They all quickly regrouped as a few of them shook their arms and legs to release some of the fluid from them. It was nearing 0720 hours once the whole lot of them were finally prepared to make their way for the nearest and currently open restaurant.

Finding a quaint looking place, the group made their way inside and waited to finally be sat. Breakfast went smoothly and was way more enjoyable than expected. By the time members had taken a seat and received some fluids, the overall energy had shifted from mildly irritated by the early morning to an air of bliss.

Samson leaned over the table to get a good look at everyone. "So, who here has been practicing their Croatian?"

"Uh...mine is lacking in quality…" Shawn was first to respond.

Ivan let his weight recline into the table as he sat his forearm down. "Knowing Croatian is as useful as knowing Serbian."

Reggie had to lower his brow with mild amusement as he let his hand open out towards the Russian. "But we're in Croatia right now. So it's actually pretty useful."

"Funny how that works." Trevor stated as his eyes ran over the menu.

A few members emitted low chuckles, even Ivan had to smile.

Samson interrupted their entertainment. "So everyone here try to order for themselves. If you can't successfully do it, I can lend you a hand."

"So thoughtful." Shorty proclaimed.

Samson could only shake his head with a faint smile. Eventually the server arrived to take their orders. All in all, the majority of the group managed to place in their orders, despite struggling briefly. Particularly, Soap had a moment of blankness as he stared over the Croatian words in the menu while the server waited impatiently for his order. Having only been present in the country for a little over a month, his skill in Croatian was obviously not the best. He waited quietly for someone to make a comment as he couldn't resist the urge to look up towards Reggie located shortly down the table. And of course, there was a smile on his face.

His mouth began to open but Soap was quick to jump the gun. "Don't."

Reggie let his shoulders drop with disappointment.

Once the server grabbed all of the group's requests, he ambled off leaving the Darkhorse members to get lost in conversation. A few were lively this morning, whereas others appeared to be a bit distant. Especially Ricochet, Shorty, and Soap; their eyes were tired and they felt groggy with fatigue. The three of them were mostly in a listening mood as a few others filled the quiet space around them with sparse conversations.

After several intervals of time had passed, everyone received their food and began to eat pleasantly. Everyone watched with widened eyes at the amount of food set before Soap. It was a rather large portion in comparison to the surrounding soldiers.

Shawn rose a fork to point it in Soap's direction. "Jesus. That is like 3 kg of food."

Soap peered up at him about to respond but was cut off by Reggie. "You should have just ordered a baby hippo."

"I'm sorry, does my plate of food offend you?" Soap asked with raised brows, mild amusement in his words.

"It would be offensive if it actually was a baby hippo." Shawn commented.

Soap shook his head as he took a bite of burek (heavy breakfast pastry).

Shorty scoffed. "Well, he didn't eat any of my food from the night before, so he's just compensating now."

"You do make good lasagna." Soap stated flatly.

"Fuck you." Shorty shot a glare in his direction only to be met by a faint smirk.

Shawn snickered. "So, should I keep an eye on you after this, Soap? Keep a defibrillator at my side in case you go into cardiac arrest?"

"I don't think heart failure is an issue right now." Soap's eyes shot up and scanned the few faces looking in his direction.

"You will eating like that, and shoving your chin with more food." Shorty commented with mild irritation.

"Did you fail your anatomy class? Because last time I checked, the chin was not an orifice used for food consumption." Soap's eyes landed onto her, shimmering with entertainment.

Shorty just mocked him back as Reggie laughed, "Not with that attitude!"

"I feel like this is going to be entertaining to watch." Shawn claimed as he leaned his weight into the table.

"You're free to watch, but you keep your commentary to yourselves. I don't need any of that eejit talk." Soap responded after taking a sip from his cup.

The group had to take the time to enjoy a short bit of laughter and amusement.

Eventually, the meal was finished and the group prepared to run back. Since all behavior remained appropriate and well-mannered, the group was free to do what they wanted with their time upon arrival. The next big contract coming up wasn't scheduled for another three days, so while Samson and Price waited for more contracts to shuffle in, in addition to more information on the Vazquez ordeal, a few of the other petty contracts had been completed. Such as an escort contract, package and code retrievals, and a fugitive apprehension contract.

Back at base, many members seeked out the showers while a few others were ready to continue with the workouts. Reggie watched Lydia with skepticism as she headed for the radio tower. He narrowed his eyes as Shawn stepped up to his side.

"She's a whore. I hate her." Reggie stated flatly.

Shawn's eyes were quick to find his brother in the corner of his vision. "Those were some harsh words."

Reggie turned his body towards Shawn. "I only hate her because she's a pompous bitch, not because she's a whore."

Shawn nodded with understanding as he crossed his arms and watched Lydia disappear up into the radio tower. His attention went towards the old man, Price, who was also observing as he lit up a Villa Clara cigar. Shawn rolled his tongue around in his mouth. "The old man knows."

Reggie gestured towards the tower. "Well, of course he does. It's obvious." He had to sigh and stare off at a few distant members. He watched Shorty and Trevor disappear into the hangar with a laughing Ivan by their sides, in addition to Rico, including Samson and Soap, heading for the other portion of the base which housed the courses and gym equipment. He narrowed his eyes with observation.

Shawn leaned forward. "You're getting that quizzical stare…"

Reggie shrugged. "Don't mind me."

* * *

"So, I heard the assassination mission went well. Saleh Nasir, Taliban member?" Soap's voice sounded deeply, causing Ricochet to turn on her heels that were placed against a floor mat.

Her eyes quickly found the source of the voice and met up with Soap's light-eyed stare. "Yep." She straightened her posture and crossed her arms. "His body is friends with the crows now."

Soap observed her face, her expression had suddenly shifted from placidness to contempt. "How was the old man?"

She bit her lip as her eyes wandered off. "Well, he was a great spotter. I give him that. Price has definitely had his fair share of experiences. Honestly, I'd be honored for him to be my spotter again."

"I detect mild uncertainty in your voice, though." Soap let his eyebrows go flat. After the previous night, he was already beginning to grow more wary of Price, and it irked him.

"Hmm," her voice trailed off as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. "He's an eccentric man."

Soap nodded slowly at her reply. He couldn't agree more. Their eyes met as he pondered over the previous night while she was still trying to completely grasp the colors Price possessed.

Wanting to be rid of the sudden stark air around them, Soap wanted to wave it off and change up the mood. He was a man of action, and the best way to avoid unwanted emotions was to simply embrace them, understand them, and then move on from them in search of a healthy distraction.

He took a step back and gestured towards her. "Here, how about we start up a spar again. I saw you and Price working on things a week before. I want to see what he showed you."

She uncrossed her arms as her eyebrows raised above big, round eyes. "You seem oddly upbeat."

"'Ay lass, I lost the shoot-off so maybe I can make-up for it."

She let some of the tension in her body release. "Haha, right. Because in a realistic situation I wouldn't stand a chance against a man twice my size."

"Oh, so you're too afraid then?" He straightened up after breaking out of an offensive stance.

"You kiddin'? The ability to fear got kicked out of me back in Afghanistan." She smirked at him.

He nodded. "Right then." He motioned for her to come at him. "Prove it."

Growing determined, she took on the challenge and was willing to spar with the overly-sized Scotsman. After some carefree grappling and casual attempts at gaining control, he got her in an arm clinch and kept her elbow locked. He quickly found her face and was met with an impatient stare. Her eyes shot up and met his eyes as a flash of assurance lit up on her face. Breaking from the hold, she managed to land a two-point takedown on him, using her leg and arm to swipe out his weight from underneath him. He landed onto his back with a heavy 'thud' as she followed through by grabbing hold of his wrist and folding it in.

Soap peered up at her with mild confusion. "Price show you that?"

Coming to a realization, she released him and allowed for him to stand up and tower over her. "No, he didn't."

He put his hands on his waist as he stared down at her, allowing his brain to contemplate everything. She knew what was coming as he opened his mouth to talk. "Something you need to tell me, lass?"

She hesitated as she placed her hands on her hips and rolled an imaginary object around in her mouth. Finally, she heaved a sigh. "I'm not a clueless damsel. I can handle myself just fine. Everything you two have shown me thus far, I already knew."

He had to raise an eyebrow and let his mouth go flat. "Why would you lie about that?"

Feeling somewhat guilty, her eye lit up with serenity. "I apologize. It's something I do out of defense. I want to get to know people first." Then she looked off towards the opened door to the outside, where her dog Gretel came in in-search of her owner. "I was trained in the 99th Ground Combat Training Squadron before entering sniping school."

Pondering over what she said, he had to sigh. "Well, I guess I can respect that. Would have prefered you just had been honest the first time, lass. But I suppose we've all seen our fair share of deceit. Don't completely blame you for wanting to be cautious."

Nodding slowly, she replied. "But there's that. I know you two well enough by now to be rid of that mask. I can trust you."

His eyes found Gretel as the happy-eyed German Shepherd approached to stand by her companion's side. Rico set a comforting hand atop her caramel-tinted head. He looked back up into Rico's softened expression. "You can trust me so long as you continue giving me reasons to return the favor."

"Right." She agreed. Gretel looked up at her with honey, smart eyes. Seeing her dog's smiling face always was warming. She let a faint smile pull at her mouth. "Well, I'm going to go brush Gretel's coat."

Soap simply nodded as she walked past. He watched her as she left to enter the outside world. Mixed feelings filled his heart and stomach.

After some time had passed, Soap finished up some exercises before heading for the showers. He passed up Samson on the way out, who gave him a head nod. Outside, he spotted Trevor and Shorty enjoying a smoke break, and Rico brushing a content Gretel in the space between two barracks. He kept a curious eye on her as he passed before finding Trevor's placid stare and Shorty's uninterested eyes. His legs carried him over the dirt path and for the showers.

Rico spotted Soap disappear into the showers. She narrowed her eyes in wonderment as she continued guiding the brush through her relaxed dog's coat. Eventually, after showering off the sweat from his body, the large man left the confines of the room which housed the showers and was met by Price who had left the sleep corridors moments before. They began to exchange words while Price kept his arms crossed and Soap kept a towel in place behind his neck. The two had chemistry, that was for sure. They had a unique relationship. It was a combination of a relationship shared between a father and son, and of course, befriended soldiers of war. Bringing herself up, she moved for the showers with Gretel practically attached at her hip. She slipped past the two men and entered the space which contained the showers as Gretel sighed and laid out on the ground.

Soap saw Price's eyes move towards the now seemingly sad dog who just had to part from its owner. The Scotsman followed the stare and found Gretel on the other end. The dog watched them closely with observant eyes.

After the two ex-S.A.S. soldiers wrapped up their conversation, both men went separate ways in search of a new form of entertainment and a fresh set of distractions. Naturally, Soap found his journal and his favorite pen, and headed for the mesh hall where he took a seat in a quiet space and allowed his mind to drift elsewhere. He exhaled heavily as he began to jot down his thoughts, after some time had passed his pen stood still. His eyes stared at it blankly before it began to sketch out contours and rough edges to an image.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of the push door unlatch as it pulled open. His eyes followed the source where they met up with the image of Ricochet standing in the threshold. Gretel moved inside as Rico's legs completely brought herself through the door.

Spotting him, she spoke. "I apologize if I'm interrupting your quiet time."

He waved her off. "No. You're not."

She nodded as she began to work for the kitchen. "I'm just going to brew some coffee and be on my way."

He gestured his head in understanding. As she neared him, he allowed his attention to fall back onto his hands. He felt her energy surround the space around him as she came to a stop near him.

"Hey, I want to apologize for earlier." She stated. "I shouldn't have led you on like that. I sometimes forget to turn off my defensiveness. It's just because I've been doing it for years."

His eyes pulled up from his journal and met with her aqua irises. Sensing her genuine intent, he was willing to be forgiving. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, lass. I've long since moved passed that."

She lost some of her tension as she became content with his response. Straightening her posture, she jutted a thumb towards the kitchen. "Would you want some coffee?"

Pondering over it momentarily, he couldn't decline the enticing offer. "Sure."

She flashed a quick smile before ambling off; there was a lighter air to her suddenly. Returning his eyes to the page before him, his hands went back to work. Becoming lost in his sketch, his alertness zoned out as it become focused onto his moving pen. He had become so lost in the lines of his sketch that he hadn't sensed her return to the table.

"Oh, is that supposed to be me and Gretel?" Her voice came out pleasantly.

He sat back as his fingers tightened nervously around the pen. Biting the inside of his cheek he nodded. "Aye."

Noticing she had placed him in an uncomfortable position, she continued to speak. "That's pretty good. You have a knack for capturing expressions." She outstretched an arm. "Here's your coffee. I just went ahead and grabbed some creamer and sugar. Didn't know how you take it."

He accepted the mug and peered over the rim. Taking up a half-and-half he opened his mouth to speak in attempts to break up the sudden awkward tension. "Tell me about you and Gretel. How long has she been with you?" He gestured his mug in the German Shepherd's direction.

Rico let her eyes light up. "Oh, my dad brought her overseas while I was still stationed in Iraq. He's an ex-officer to the Army so he gets to do whatever he wants sometimes." She decided to take a seat as she set her mug out before her. "Because of that, I'd get a lot of shit from fellow soldiers because they thought he pulled some strings to get me accepted into the Air Force. I like to believe that's the farthest thing from the truth."

He nodded at her. "So, he brought her over as a pup?"

Taking a sip, the steam from the coffee blew from the mug and hovered near her face. Her eyes stayed locked on him from over the rim. Setting it down, she bobbed her head in confirmation. "She was probably about 8 months by then. My dad actually settled down and started breeding and selling German Shepherds. So he kept one of the puppies aside for me after a litter was born. I was so enlightened when he brought her to me. I finally had a friend that would never leave my side. Sometimes it gets cold and lonely, you know?"

"All too well."

He could sense she was beginning to relax, and there was just something about his mannerisms and facial expression that just seemed so warm and welcoming. "All in all, I was just thrilled to have someone always there for me. Much harder to make friends when 90% of the people around you are usually testosterone driven men." She stated.

He let his face relax as he stared her over. "Not all of us our driven by blind testosterone."

"Realistically, I know that. But where I was stationed at the time I just so happened to be surrounded by mostly those types. Not everyone there agreed with having a woman be just as capable a soldier as them. I try to remember not all men can be perverted jerks. Can't completely resist the biased opinion sometimes, however."

He narrowed his eyes. "No one here seems that way. At least, not as of now. Maybe Reggie...but he usually just pesters me more than he does the women…"

She snickered. "Yeah, I heard about that."

He shook his head with disapproval at the thought of Reggie feeling the need to harp on Soap's bodily features. "He's cheeky."

"No doubt about that." She let a smile appear on her face; she suddenly seemed more human. "But, I still love it here. The brothers are like family, and you start almost feeling like family. Don't know where I'd be without them. And, well, Shorty is like my sister. We have a history. And I think in this sort of scenario, it's easier to get attached to people."

He nodded at her after taking a moment to indulge in the warmth of his coffee.

Suddenly, she perked up. "I just realized I never answered your original question. I tend to get carried away and trail off the topic."

He waved her off. "It's fine."

"To answer your question, she's about three now. So I've had her for nearly two years." She watched as his eyes moved away from her face and towards Gretel. She gestured her head in her canine's direction. "So have you warmed up to dogs yet?"

"Just her."

"Well…" She trailed off, causing his attention to fall back onto her. She released a content sigh. "Mind telling me one interesting fact about yourself?"

"Outside of my military career?"

"Preferably."

He fell silent to ponder over the question. "Hm. Nothing too prominent stands out."

"Nothing at all?" She cocked her head slightly having some of her damp, loose locks, caused by her recent shower, to fall against her cheek.

"Life was pretty uneventful until after graduating from high school."

"I think you're lying." She smiled at him.

"Maybe I am."

"Come on," she tapped the table near his hand, causing his eyes to land onto the movement. "I know you have at least one thing to share."

He allowed his eyes to wander back onto the mug before him. Observing the TTF logo, he replied, "I used to be fat as a kid. Rather chubby."

She sat back and looked him over. "No way."

"Yes way."

Leaning against the table, she responded with an amused tone. "Out of all of the potentially interesting things you could have told me, and you pick that one."

He shrugged, allowing a faint smile to appear on his face. "I thought it was interesting."

"I supposed you just worked it all off?"

"No, I got tall."

"Ah, so your body was just saving up for a growth spurt." She claimed nonchalantly.

"Guess so."

"Anything else?"

His grey-blue eyes found her round-eyed stare. She had a certain spark of intelligence in them. "I won an award for 'Most Surprising Outcome' my graduating year of high school."

Her eyes narrowed in thought. "...That's a thing?"

"No."

She had to emit a quick chuckle at his unabashed ways; he let a faded smile appear on his face. "So just in your head you won an award for 'Most Likely to Surprise the Class'?"

"I like to believe I achieved that personal goal."

"Didn't realize you had a sharp sense of humor."

He set his mug down after taking another sip. "Oh, so now I'm just a mindless brute?"

"Continue surprising people. It's your personal goal, right?"

He smirked at her. "You got me there."

Sensing the conversation was starting to reach a dead-end, they both took a moment to stare at each other momentarily; both waiting for the other to speak.

Rico shifted before peering down into the contents of her mug. "Almost out. Want another cup?"

"Sure."

"Alright." She began to rise but Soap suddenly stopped her.

"Here," he patted the table with his strong hand as he moved out of his chair. "I'll get it this time.

Ricochet returned to her seat. "Such a gentleman."

"Surprising you still, lass?"

"Your streak is staying strong."

He moved passed her and for the back room which housed the kitchen. Soap was quick to return with the pot of coffee and the rest of its contents. His rear found the chair he was in moments before.

"Right," he quickly topped them off, "where were we?"

She rested her chin on her hand. "Interesting facts."

"Right. I believe it's your turn. How about you start with telling me about your dream destination."

"Like travel?"

"Aye."

Rico thought over it briefly. "Well, honestly, I'd like to go back to Germany."

"Go back?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I lived there for awhile while my dad was stationed over there. I was young. We were probably only there for about three years."

"Fluent?"

"Eine Person kann das sagen."

He nodded at her. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

She smiled. "And then, coincidentally, I've always wanted to see all of Britain. Especially the highlands."

"Just don't go there for the weather."

"I wasn't planning on it. I'm more interested in the castles. I'm a sucker for dragons."

"Sorry to disappoint," he began, "but the dragons have long since left."

Her head perked up. "How about you?"

"I've been to many places. But it's all been work related. So I never got to actually enjoy the locations. So, if I had to pick a place, I'd have to say the Italian countrysides. Away from all of the commotion. I guess that may make me a romantic." He blinked at his mug before looking back up into her fair complected face. "Certain parts of Russia are lovely as well."

"Hmm, so kind of what we just saw south of Napoli."

"Exactly like that. Seeing it in person only makes me want to experience it again, only on a more casual affair. Particularly without all of the weapons."

"It's very appealing, for sure." She replied. "You know, if you're into diverse and endless amounts of terrain, I highly recommend the states."

"Land of the Yankees."

"Land of the free." Rico stated with a faint smile. "But all jokes aside, you can see mountain ranges, deserts, shoreline coasts, the great lakes, tropical storms, grasslands as far as the eye can see, hot summers and chilling winters, and of course, endless amounts of woodlands." Her eyes gazed deeply into his. "I think it's easy to forget to appreciate where your roots are. We're all just always searching for something bigger and better, that we probably don't realize it's right under our noses."

"I can respect that point-of-view."

"Unless, of course, you're just trying to avoid us 'Yankees'."

His magnetic eyes returned to hers as he shrugged. "Not all Yankees are bad."

"Oh, yeah?"

He nodded and gestured his head towards her. "You're not so bad."

"You just haven't pissed me off yet."

"Friendly warning?"

She simply chuckled. "Sure."

"I'll take note."

Silence fell between them. Ricochet brought herself back and reached for her wet ponytail.

She pulled the tie out and sighed. "This damn thing can give me a headache; having it pulled back all of the time."

"You could always just cut it all off."

"I'd like to embrace some form of feminine feature I still have. All of this military experience has turned me into an even bigger tomboy." She set her elbows onto the table in front of her.

"Fair enough."

She let an amused smile appear on her face. "Oh, so now you're agreeing it's the only feminine feature I have?" Her voice came out jokingly.

"I see you're trying to put me in an awkward position right now."

"Hey, you implied it."

Soap observed her as he replied, "You don't need long hair to look feminine; I think you're doing just fine."

Her smile spread. "Aw, how sweet."

His hand found the tiny, empty cup that creamer had once been in, as he snatched it up to toss at her. "Let's just take the compliment I gave you and throw it back into my face with a sarcastic remark."

She took a moment to let a quick laugh escape her throat as she pointed at him. "Now you're a litter-bug." Her eyes widened with life and wonderment. "So, where did you grow up?"

"Scotland."

"Oh, no shit."

He smirked as he peered into his now empty mug. "Grew up in Whitebridge. South of Lake Loch Ness. Small cottage."

"Brothers? Sisters?"

He nodded. "One older sister and one younger brother."

"Ah, so you're stuck in the middle?"

"Aye. But the best of the three." He finally moved his eyes away from the mug and towards the distant door. "Then my hard-working, single mother."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Aye. She did everything for us. When me and my sister got a bit older, we started cooking the meals for her and ourselves because that woman was working two jobs."

Rico narrowed her eyes at him. "You all sounded close."

"We were."

"Miss it?" Her expression shifted drastically.

He pondered over the question. "Hm. In a sense yes, and in another sense, no. I miss my mum and just that feeling of normalcy. But I also love this line of work I am in. I've attempted to try other things when I was younger, but it just didn't feel right."

"I can understand that feeling." Her voice came out soft.

They both took a moment to get lost in thought and gawk into each other's faces; not quite paying attention to what it is their eyes were showing them.

Suddenly, the far-end door came swinging open. They both turned their heads in the direction of the sound, only to see the image of Shorty standing in the threshold. She placed her hands on her wide hips as she lowered her brow.

"There you are! I've been looking for you, Rico." She let her eyes narrow as she tried to absorb what it was her eyes were showing. "...What are you two doing?"

"Just chatting." Rico responded only causing Shorty to cross her arms in disapproval.

"Don't waste your time talking to butt-chin over there. We got some work to do."

Suddenly, Rico let her eyes widen. "Oh, you're completely right. Lost track of time."

"Well, then, come on!" Shorty gestured for her to get up.

Rico smiled and brought herself up, making the chair move out from under her. Before moving away she turned to peer down at Soap who stared up with keen eyes.

"We got plans tonight. And you're invited."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Bon-fire. Trevor and Shawn's idea. Reggie brought marshmallows, of course. You should make a point to stop by."

"It'd be hard not to considering we're on a base that can only house about 30 people."

"Again with the smart-ass tone."

"You got it in you too, lass." He replied.

"Ugh! Come on, now!" Shorty came over to tap Rico's shoulder.

The two women left leaving Soap alone once again in the mess hall. His eyes fell over the mugs and coffee pot as he moved out from his chair to clean up the dishes. Soap allowed his mind to wander over recent and past events; he was starting to have mixed feelings.

Outside, Shorty looked up at her friend. "So...yeah, don't go associating yourself with him."

Rico had to laugh at the colorful woman. "What are you talking about?"

"The Chin."

"He's not a bad guy. You make it sound like he's a raging asshole."

"He's arrogant." Shorty crossed her arms over her chest.

"You know," Rico began, "he's actually far from it. Maybe if you tried to just have one normal conversation with him, instead of making comments about his face…"

"Over my dead body."

"You crack me up."

"And I can't believe you invited him to our marshmallow roasting." Shorty mumbled.

"He would have seen the giant fire glowing in the background anyways."

Shorty huffed. "Not if his chin and guybrows got in the way."

Rico laughed. "You make it sound like he's this heinous beast. I like to think he's actually got a nice chin."

"Oh God...no…"

"What? He's actually decent looking."

"No! This is not happening right now."

Rico raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"He's overly manly. It's too much."

"You're too funny. You're so stuck in your hard-ass ways…"

Shorty raised her arms into the air. "And don't you go getting any ideas! Or any dirty thoughts!"

"I'm not. I'm just trying to understand why you're so set in your ways of hating him."

"Just don't…" Shorty murmured.

"I'm still allowed to find him attractive. Doesn't mean I'm going to do anything."

"Just don't go sucking his cock."

"Shorty!" Rico pushed her friend. "You're one to talk. I see you gawking at Trevor all of the time."

Shorty waved her arms out before her. "Enough! I will have none of this."

Ricochet could only snicker with entertainment.


	15. Brotherly Love and Hostile Tradebacks

**Chapter 13 - Brotherly Love and Hostile Tradebacks  
**

"Where are these marshmallows you kept talking so highly about, Reggie?" Shawn quizzed his brother as he rummaged through some bags.

"They're somewhere." Reggie replied while he relaced his boot.

Shawn straightened up and gave his brother a disapproving glance. "You're so profoundly descriptive with directions."

Reggie sighed. "Must I do _everything_ for you?"

"I'm going to punch you in the mouth."

Reggie brought himself up from his boots as he placed his fists onto his hips. "Do it. Punch me. Right now. And right in front of half of the team."

Shorty spun on her heels and shouted. "Yes! Please! Fucking sock him right in the chin!"

Reggie extended a long arm to point at her. "Shorty. You're in advocator of violence."

"Wait, so does this mean we all get a free shot at Reggie?" Ivan questioned with a thick accent.

"No, Ivan. It doesn't. I'm only giving Shawn permission." Reggie stated with his chin up, faint grin on his face.

Shawn tossed his arms into the air. "Just tell us where the marshmallows are! Everything doesn't always have to be a game."

Reggie heaved a thick exhale. "You all can be so hard to have fun around-"

"Go choke on a cock." Shorty interrupted blatantly.

"Hehehehe," Ivan unleashed his signature chuckle.

"Oh, I bet you know exactly what that feels like." Reggie remarked, causing Ivan to only laugh louder and Trevor to peer from his position near the retrieved woodpile. Reggie's eyes quickly found Trevor's while he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"You pig!" Shorty began to stomp over for Reggie who took a step back to get into a defensive stance.

"You all are so vulgar and inappropriate…" Shawn commented flatly.

Shorty began to haul back to land a punch onto Reggie. Reggie let his hands out in front of himself as he snickered at her. "Calm yo tits!"

"That is MY line, you ass!" Shorty shouted only increasing her speed and closing-in on Reggie.

"Will someone just go get the marshmallows, please? This is getting absurd." Shawn claimed with mild annoyance as Reggie and Shorty were now wrapped up into each others arms.

Shorty grumbled derogatory terms at Reggie who held her arms together after she had attempted to land a fist into his ribs.

"Ugh, fine! Let me go, Reggie. I'll go retrieve the God damn marshmallows for your lazy ass." Shorty barked.

The taller man released her with a smile and wide, metallic eyes. "Aw, so sweet. You're such an angel." She glared at him as she raised a knee to try to place between his legs. "Whoa there, little lady! Easy with those strikes."

"Just stop being a dodgy bitch!"

"Fine, fine. The marshmallows are in the kitchen. Back of the mess hall. Top cabinet."

"There! That wasn't so hard." Shorty stated as she began to move away and for the exit to the hangar. Before leaving, she sent a quick stare in Trevor's direction who immediately looked towards her whiskey-colored eyes.

After a short walk, Shorty found herself in the mess hall where she moved calmly across the room and for the kitchen on the opposite end. Her eyes caught sight of an object as she moved past the table Rico and Soap had been sitting at hours before. She narrowed her eyes, noticing a pen had been left behind. A very nice pen at that. Growing intrigued, she walked towards it and snatched it up from the tabletop where she promptly began to scribble on the back of her palm. It wrote with fluid, fantastic precision. Deciding she had just found her new favorite pen, she slid it behind her ear before walking with a skip to her step.

Quickly retrieving the bag of marshmallows Reggie had directed her to, she let her legs move her towards the exit where she was immediately met by Trevor who now stood before the door.

He raised his chin towards her. "What's up."

"Nothing." She stepped closer as she observed him closely. "What's up with you?"

He shrugged. "Just came in to check to see if you were having any trouble finding the marshmallows. God knows how big of a jackass Reggie can be."

She smiled teasingly at him. "I know how he works too, you know."

"Yeah, well, he also plays the game of unpredictability and will sometimes switch up his tactics on you."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me." She replied smoothly with a smirk as she moved the pen out from behind her ear. "Hey, check out this awesome pen I found. It's the best pen ever. Today is my lucky day."

He gestured for her to hand it to him. His hand quickly received it from hers as he looked it over. "This IS a pretty nice pen. It's made of some better quality material as well…" he suddenly trailed off before continuing. "You know...I think this is Soap's pen."

Suddenly, the pen disappeared from his hand as Shorty swiped it up from his palm. "Well, not now! It's mine. Finders-keepers."

He chuckled at her. "What are you? Five?"

"You know, it's not every day you come across a pen that's probably worth $12."

He rolled his eyes with amusement. "Right. Well, don't be surprised if he sees you with it and is asking for it back."

"Nope. Dibbsies."

He shook his head at her as he outstretched an arm out to his side. "Ladies first."

"Oh, you're making me so moist with your chivalry." She stated with a comical smile.

Trevor could only watch her with a grin as she strolled on past him and for the door. He turned on his heels to follow her to the outside world, where the sun was setting and a distant glow emitted from the far-end of the base and passed the barracks.

As they approached the group of Darkhorse members, who watched with little entertainment as Shawn and Reggie argued, they spotted a few faces turn to look at them as they became visible in the small glow of the fire. Each face bore a similar, yet highly diverse, expression.

"Reggie. Stop stiffening my fire-starting abilities." Shawn murmured with discontent as Reggie poked the small, hungry fire.

"Nope. You keep your kerosene away. We're gonna do this the old fashioned way." Reggie refused to look at his brother.

"Oh my God-just back up so I can drench the flames in combustible fluids."

"But I already have the fire started! I just need more dried leaves and twigs." Reggie kept a stoic expression as Shawn crossed his arms.

"We're next to the Alps! And in a Mediterranean climate, and it's fucking March."

Reggie stood up straight and pointed a long, skinny stick in Shawn's face; the end was blackened by the recent heat exposure. "Stop with your reasoning."

Shawn swiped his arm and ripped the stick from Reggie's grip, causing his brother to place his fists on his hips with disapproval. "Don't put hot objects in my face, you asshat." Shawn scoffed.

"Why are you calling me names?" Reggie let a forced an upset expression cover his face.

Shawn could only roll his eyes. "You've been calling me names for the past hour. I'm just returning the favor."

"Like what?"

Shawn had to take a moment to laugh as Ivan laughed with him. "Oh, I dunno...like butt bandit, cellar troll, hobbit lord-"

"Don't forget 'foul-bearded wiener bucket'." Ivan chimed in with a large grin plastered on his face. The recollection of Reggie's insult caused a few to emit quick chuckles.

Shawn gestured a raised hand out towards Ivan with gratitude. "Oh, and that one. Let's not forget the wiener bucket."

"Shawn, humans from 10,000 plus years ago could start fires. And it'll be the death of me if I can't turn this huge stack of logs and sticks into a towering wall of fire." Reggie claimed, only causing Shawn to sigh heavily.

"We've been waiting for your stupid ass to light the fire for the past twenty minutes! I think you've had your chance."

"I will not tolerate your hurtful words-"

Suddenly, Shorty cut them all off abruptly as she stomped over towards the two men. Her hand ripped the kerosene from Reggie's hand as she strided past.

"Hey, what are you doing-" Reggie asked as she neared the fire and rose the kerosene into the air. "Shorty! Don't throw the whole-" but then the entire container of kerosene found a cozy spot into the small flames of the fire. As it thudded against the wood, all Darkhorse members stood and backed away. The plastic began to deteriorate from the heat before it ruptured and caused a massive fireball to fill the space around them.

Everyone was luckily fortunate enough to have created some distance before the ball of fire erupted into the sky. A few people cheered as Shawn threw his hands into the air.

"Aha! Fire!" Shorty shouted with a smile.

"Shorty! You fucking moron! I'm not here to treat third-degree burns that your inflicted on people!" Shawn yelled at her as he pulled at his mouth.

"Oh, someone needs to keep you in business." She turned to look at him as she responded nonchalantly.

He could only exhale and look off towards the now enormous bon-fire.

"It's alright. Soap will help to keep him busy." Price commented flatly with his arms crossed and eyes locked onto the orange flames.

Soap peered over at him disapprovingly. "Real funny."

Price let a faint smile appear behind his beard as Shawn let his green eyes fall onto Soap's masculine profile. "It's ok, man. Trevor gets injured a lot too."

Soap's eyes moved to the corner of the vision and found Shawn's stare.

Tatiana suddenly raised some slender sticks into the air. "Marshmallow roasting sticks here!"

A few people went over to help themselves to the sticks and the marshmallow bag which Shorty kept guarded at her side. Eventually, the group of 16 members were able to return to the fire's side as everyone found a comfortable position to gaze into the fire from.

Once everyone seemed to be situated, the conversation returned.

"Hey, Samson. Tell us all the story about how Shawn shit his pants in the car." Reggie requested as he began to blow out the fire on his burning marshmallow.

Samson let a smile pull at his mouth as Shawn huffed with annoyance. "Why do I always have to be the one to get made fun of?"

"Because you're an easy target." Trevor commented.

Shawn looked to his oldest brother. "Samson. Please don't tell that story."

"Now you have to understand we all know the story exists and we're going to want a better explanation." Soap said with his usual tone.

Shawn rubbed his brow while Samson looked over the faces. "Well, Shawn got sick. And we were on the highway with no exit for probably another 8 km. Tried to stop the vehicle in time but we obviously weren't fortunate enough."

"Ok, now let's start asking the important questions." Ivan proclaimed as he let his brow lower with bewilderment. "How old were you?"

Reggie had to relish in a good laugh.

Samson shrugged. "Probably about 14."

The answer caused a few others to laugh out.

"Way too old to be shitting his pants." Trevor pointed-out as he drank from a water bottle.

"I got food poisoning! It wasn't like I _chose_ to blow-ass in the car." Shawn stated with raised eyebrows.

Reggie shrugged as he reached for another marshmallow from Shorty, who was quick to smack his hand away. Before speaking, he gave her a quick look of disbelief. "You just chose to not hold it long enough to give us time to pull-over so that you could unleash the brown flow on the side of the interstate."

While the brothers began to get immersed in their petty arguing over the story, Soap spotted a familiar pen in Shorty's ear. She noticed his now quizzical stare from a few meters away. His hand quickly felt his pockets as a realization occurred to him. Immediately, his legs brought him towards Shorty as she watched him closely.

Once before her, he cleared his throat while she let her eyes narrow at him. He pointed at the pen. "Shorty. I believe you have my pen."

She blinked at him, marshmallow in mouth, and shook her head. "No." She muffled through the fluff of the marshmallow.

He cocked his head and let his eyebrows go flat against his skeptical eyes. "Hmm. Actually, that definitely is my pen."

She swallowed the sugary snack and nodded smoothly. "That's interesting."

"..." He straightened his posture and stared down at her. "May I have it back."

"Nope. I found it. It's mine now."

Ricochet looked from Shorty to Soap, and then back to Shorty with a faint smile.

"You see, I was telling not asking."

Shorty brought her hands up slightly and wiggled her fingers. "Ooooh, so scary."

"Give it back to me, Shorty." He crossed his arms. "I like that pen."

"Oh my God, I like it too! I liked it so much I even named it. I call it 'Shorty's Pen'. I bet you didn't even have a name for it."

"How sure of that are you?"

She shrugged. "You don't seem the type to name things."

"Actually, I named it 'Soap's Pen', and then I even get so creative as to name my other belongings too. You know...things I've bought. With my own money. Some of which include 'Soap's Book', 'Soap's Shirt', 'Soap's Shoes'; the list is ongoing."

"Well, that's special." She stared back off into the fire as she reached for another marshmallow.

Soap sighed. "Shorty, please give it back."

"Your faked manners do not work on me."

"They weren't fabricated. I just want my pen back."

She poked him hard in the chest. "No." Then she grimaced. "My Lord, you feel like memory foam." She let her mouth go flat as she finished chewing her marshmallow. "Oddly fitting…"

Soap jutted a thumb at her and looked to Rico. "You need to control your friend here."

Ricochet could only snicker. "She does what she pleases."

"It's true." She reached for a marshmallow and handed it to Soap who hesitated before taking it. "Go calm down and eat some sugar."

Soap looked down at the white puff of corn syrup before staring at Shorty with determination. "I will get that pen back."

Shorty froze before straightening up. "Is that a challenge?"

"No. It was warning." He replied.

"She heard it as a challenge though." Rico stated as she unscrewed the lid to her water bottle.

"Bring it on, Chin. I bet you your pen you can't get your pen back."

"That wager sure is alluring."

"Good." She was quick to respond.

"Fine."

"Fine."

Then they both stared each other down before Soap decided to leave the little, angry woman's side. Shorty chuckled as he moved away with an air of irritation. Ricochet could only shake her head with amusement at Shorty's behavior.

The night eventually concluded with an overall emotion of content as everyone made their way for their beds. The early hours of the morning were approaching as the moon towered high in the sky and cast twilight onto the base and surrounding landscape below.

* * *

Once morning time came, the soldiers dispersed after breakfast, and the women headed for the showers, which was Soap's cue to initiate his shifty character. He was quick on his feet as he sneaked his way into Shorty and Ricochet's room. He wanted that pen back. Feeling somewhat rude as he slid inside and let the door close softly behind him, he moved across the room and for Shorty's side of the space. Both beds displayed signs of organization and neatness, but the most distinguishable factor was the amount of purple on Shorty's side. Her sheets were the basic military tones, but her pillow was purple, as well as several things on her desk and shelf and a small purple area rug next to her bed.

Before walking towards the end table and the space her belongings stood in, he managed to stumble on an unknown object. It squeaked under his foot, causing him to flinch. Looking down swiftly, he spotted a dog-toy, which was designed to resemble a squirrel. He used his foot to slide it to side as he allowed his eyes to wander briefly over Rico's things. A sweet-pea smell became apparent as he drew himself further into the room.

Soap began his search for his beloved pen. He skimmed through some contents on her end table and the desk, but to no avail. Sighing, he started browsing through the four-tiered shelf. Again, his eyes could not spot the pen. Instead, however, he noticed the multitude of model military planes and helicopter models which populated the shelves; several books kept them company. His eyes landed on a HH-60 Pavehawk, which was nearly 16 cm in length. He observed it closely and couldn't help but admire the time and detail which was obviously put into the small, model chopper. Unable to resist, his hands picked it up gently to bring it closer to his face to examine it with admiration.

But, the small Pavehawk did not agree with the size of his hands, as the top set of propellers broke off. Immediately, a feeling of guilt and discontent filled his stomach. Realizing he could not simply reattach the propellers, he returned the model to its original location. He stared it over with mild disappointment as his brain went to work to try and ease the disfastication in himself for having broken one of her nicer models. He crossed his arms, and despite trying to convince himself it was a complete accident and that she most likely deserved it, he still couldn't ease the sense of guilt. He swallowed hard at the thought of having to inform Shorty of the ordeal. Now there was no way in hell he'd get his pen back.

Deciding to quickly retreat, he returned himself to the hallway to bring himself to his room to get his change of clothes for the day. After several intervals of time had passed, the women left the showers to return back to their rooms. Before Soap could leave the sleep corridors, he heard Shorty's high-pitched shout.

"Oh my GOD!" She yelled. "Who did this?"

Then he heard Rico's voice. "Did what?"

"MY PAVEHAWK IS BROKEN."

"Oh...glue it back?"

Shorty grumbled loudly as Soap exhaled heavily and began to prepare a speech in his head while leaving his room.

But then there was a sense of mild hope as she continued screaming. "REGGIE. GET IN HERE NOW."

"I didn't do it!" Reggie was quick to reply as he poked his head out of his room.

"You're the only asshole stupid enough to go into people's PRIVATE rooms and fuck with their belongings."

Reggie met her in the hallway. "Shorty, I didn't do it."

"FUCK YOU, REGGIE."

"What the hell!"

Shorty shook the broken Pavehawk in the air and in Reggie's face. "Fix it or buy me a new one!"

Reggie crossed his arms. "Shorty, I'm tired of getting blamed for things I did not do. I may be a prankster, but I sure as hell wouldn't break anything or lie about it."

She mumbled angrily under her breath as she pondered. Finally, she returned to scolding him. "But you do fuck with people's things. Try to rearrange their room around to make them paranoid. You probably were doing that and broke it in the process."

He shook his head and stood firm. "Negatatory. I only rearrange mine and Shawn's things."

A heavy sigh could be heard from the room behind Reggie. "It's true...he does." It was Shawn.

"Look," she pointed a cruel finger in Reggie's direction. "You messed with my Iroquois, now you're messing with my models. You're on the fast-track to getting your fingers chopped off-"

"Why are you so violent? Would it kill you to just be capable of practicing standard face-to-face conflict resolution methods?"

Before Shorty could respond to Reggie's now intolerant tone, Soap was willing to man-up and step up to the plate to claim ownership to the damage. She was quick to spot his mass coming for them with an air of confidence and calmness.

Once before them, he ran his hand through his hair before releasing the air from his lungs. "Shorty, it was me."

Reggie raised an eyebrow while Shorty stared daggers into the large man's soul.

"...what are you saying?" She murmured.

"I'm saying I am the one that accidentally broke your Pavehawk. I was searching for my pen-"

"THIS IS WHY I KEEP ASKING AND DEMANDING LOCKS FOR OUR DOORS." Her yelling echoed through the halls.

"'Ay, it was an accident. I apologize-"

"No! Now you're never getting your pen back." She was fuming at this point. "CHIN. You are NOT allowed in my room. EVER."

"Well, maybe if you just returned my belonging to me, I wouldn't have gone searching for it." Soap replied smoothly.

She threw her arms into the air. "Excuses! The amount of disrespect-"

"I know, I know. That's why I am apologizing.

"Aww, that's so heart-warming...Shorty, how could you possible be so rude to our Scottish friend here? Just look at that face of sincerity." Reggie let a goofy smile appear on his face. Both Soap and Shorty couldn't resist the urge to give him a frown. "And those charming eyes-"

"Alright, we get it, Reggie…" Soap moved his chastised stare away from Reggie and towards the short, American southwestern woman before him.

"Apology not accepted. You violated mine and Rico's right to privacy."

Now it was Rico's turn to join in. "Do what now?"

Shorty thrusted a thumb in Soap's direction. "This asshole here went into our room and was scouring around our belongings."

"Now, wait one second. I wasn't going through your belongings. I simply was scanning over your tables, Shorty." Soap claimed with a growing mild annoyance.

"Shut your pie-hole! I do not wish to speak to you any longer. You have defiled my personal treasures." She shifted with irritation. "And fuck you and your awesome pen that is now mine!"

Soap stepped closer. "Stop being so snide."

"How dare you." Shorty glared into his magnetic eyes.

"None of this would be happening right now if you just gave me my pen back and stopped being so unpleasant all of the time."

"How about you go take your pen and-"

Reggie stepped in between the two. "Hey, now! No need for hostile tradebacks."

"Shut it, Reggie. You only make matters worse." Shorty stated flatly.

"Looks like I'm going to have to take one of your belongings as ransom, now." Soap commented. His words caused Shorty to send a death ray with her eyes in his direction and from around Reggie.

"You wouldn't. You already broke my Pavehawk." She hissed.

"You actually kind of deserved it." Soap proclaimed confidently.

"I don't like you."

"Feelings mutual, lass."

"Good!'

"I'll be waiting for my apology whenever you're ready to give it to me." Soap crossed his arms and stared down at her with a lowered brow. His tone came out mockingly.

"Haha! Right!" Shorty responded with amusement.

"I think I deserve one. Whenever you're ready-Reggie, what are you doing?" Soap looked over his shoulder once Reggie began to massage the tension from his upper-body.

Reggie shrugged. "You seemed tense. Shorty will be next. What better way to break up a fight than by giving everyone a quick back massage?"

"You better not touch me…" Shorty murmured with contempt.

Soap was unsure of how to handle the situation as Reggie continued with his shoulder rubbing.

"You have fantastic shoulders." Reggie commented.

Soap pulled away from his grip. "I think we're done here…"

Reggie laughed at Soap's uncomfortable expression before turning to Shorty. He cracked his knuckles. "Come 'er, Shorty!"

"I said don't touch me!"

Before Reggie could even come close to touching the warm-complected woman, Samson stepped out of his room and waved an arm in the air.

"Glad to see you all bonding. But I need Soap for a second." He stated calmly.

Soap met his eyes and brought himself in between Reggie and Shorty to meet up with Samson in the hallway.

Once before each other, Samson crossed his arms. "Come see me and Price after your shower. Trevor will be there."

Soap let his eyebrows go flat. "What's the problem?"

Samson shook his head. "No problem. Just the contract you and Trevor were assigned to."

Soap let his mind recollect past events. "Aye. Right."

Samson nodded at him before leaving for the exit at the end of the hall. Soap was close to follow. The large man passed up a smiling Reggie, an irritated Shorty, and a content-faced Rico on his way out.

Quick to clean up, Soap left the showers and found Trevor striding calmly for the far-end of the base. Soap caught up to him, causing the metallic-eyed man to glance at him in the corner of his vision.

"How goes it?" Trevor inquired.

"Fantastic."

"That sounded convincing."

Soap nodded.

"So, we got that body guard assignment coming up. I'm sure that's what they're about to talk to us about." Trevor stated with a serene expression.

"Fat chance."

By the time their conversation came to an end, Trevor's hand found the knob to the office that led into the Darkhorse office. Inside, they spotted Samson staring down at some papers before him, eyes focused, with Price sitting nonchalantly near the corner. The two of them looked up towards Soap and Trevor, who returned the stare.

"Sit." Price ordered as he gestured for a few open chairs before the desk.

Unable to resist, both Trevor and Soap sent each other mildly confused stares before finding a seat.

Price scratched his nose and leaned forward. "You two were the ones selected to take on this body guard contract."

Trevor let his hands out before him. "I'm sorry, but who is it we're protecting again?"

"Belgian politician. She is delivering a speech in several days in Antwerp. Most heavily populated city in Belgium." Samson replied. "She's been receiving death threats. And a lot of them. You two will be her personal body guards."

"What's the level of clearance and priority we have here?" Soap questioned.

"Don't allow her get assassinated." Price answered with his hoarse voice.

Soap looked him over. "Right. I get that. But what about securing perimeters, vantage points-"

"The city's police force will be taking care of that." Samson answered.

Soap nodded with understanding.

Price pointed at them. "You two are just the ones personally assigned to her and her entourage. You keep your eyes sharp and aware, and be watchful to any suspicious behavior."

"How many people are we talking here?" Trevor said.

"The priority is Amelie Jacquet. She's the one the opposers are aiming for. So even if it means using one of her people as a human shield for both yours and Jacquet's safety, you have the clear to do such." Price voice came out with his usual sternness.

Samson looked to the old man with mild concern before moving back towards the two men before him. "But that's the worse-case-scenario sort of deal. We prefer you didn't use anyone as a human shield."

Trevor had to take a moment to snicker.

Soap leaned forward. "And the gear?"

"Standard protocol. You each get a SIG Sauer P226, radios, earpieces, and a combat knife."

"That's it?" Soap asked.

Samson had to smile at him. "That's it. I believe you two have been trained well enough to turn anything into a weapon if needed."

Soap waved him off. "Aye. Just was wondering just how profound a threat this was."

"Well, since you two will mostly be inside the majority of the time, we needed you both to be able to conceal your weapons, in addition to having control over close-range combat, should it come down to that." Samson leaned back against his chair, hands still interlaced. "Once outside and during her speech, the city's police force will handle everything else."

Both Trevor and Soap could only gesture in comprehension as they both stared with profound eyes.

"Oh, and get ready to have your sizes checked. Echo is sending in some of its members to get measurements on you two."

They both raised an eyebrow.

"Suits. Just like the real deal." Samson said.

"You'll both look real sharp." Price stated with a stoic expression.

Trevor sighed and looked off towards a bookcase. "Ah, shit. I couldn't tell you that last time I ever was in a suit."

Soap peered over at him. "Shite. I don't think I've ever even worn a suit."

Samson smirked smoothly at them. "Make sure you look the part and clean-up nicely. We don't need any gaudy or unkempt facial hair."

"When is Echo arriving?" Trevor asked.

"2000 hours. After dinner." Price replied.

Trevor and Soap could only fall silent as they thought things over.

Suddenly, Samson brought himself up. "Well, you two are dismissed. We will debrief you two again before sending you off to Belgium."

"I heard it's lovely this time of year." Trevor claimed flatly.

Soap rose out his chair, Trevor following shortly behind. Both men were quick, but quiet, when leaving the office to return to the outside.

* * *

Just a short chapter needed for a smooth transition.

Also, thanks for the reviews!


	16. Protectors Fit for a Queen

Hey everyone! As always, thanks for reading. Also, to help paint a better visual in people's heads of what the OCs look like, I'll just give you all a quick list of references I've used for developing them physically. Trevor has a look similar to Ryan Gosling, Reggie a bit like Bradley Cooper and has that more squared off look in the face, like Reggie, Samson has that squared off look as well, but has almost a Jude Law look in the face; just doesn't have that receding hairline and has much darker hair. Shawn looks similar to Joseph Gordon-Levitt but has green eyes instead of brown, Shorty has a face very similar to Selma Hayek, and Rico looks a lot like Amanda Seyfriend, but her eyes aren't so far apart and she's much taller than Amanda. Rico is like 5'9''. So there's that!

* * *

**Chapter 14** **- Protectors Fit for a Queen**

Trevor and Soap stared with profound blue eyes at Shorty's Iroquois before them as it was being loaded up with several supplies. Both Soap and Trevor were taking a smoke break to become immersed in their minds. Delroy, Ivan, and Tobias were moving along at a considerate pace, all while Ivan was singing the Russian national anthem with a blissful grin.

Trevor lowered his cigarette, and released a stream of smoke from his lungs and throat. Keeping an eye on the helicopter, he began to speak. "This should be an interesting task."

The Scotsman inhaled calmly on the end of the cigar while he narrowed his eyes in thought. "I've dealt with V.I.P. instances before, but those were all rescue missions."

Trevor shook his head. "I'm getting this feeling that we're both going to look like class A tool bags."

Soap looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Elaborate."

"All suited up. Dressed like chaperones." Trevor sighed. "I'm probably going to look like a major prick once I have to gel back some of my hair."

"I wouldn't dwell on it too much," Soap began, "because you resemble one already."

Trevor smiled. "You need to start using that attitude some more on Shorty. She needs you to push back."

Soap exhaled. "Right. That lass thinks I'm a pompous arse." He shrugged and closed his eyes. "I already saw her with my pen in her uniform pocket. She's going to be tormenting me with it for the next several hours."

"You could always just take it back."

"And risk getting my hand bitten off? That woman seems feisty."

Trevor's smile widened. "Oh, she definitely is." He pointed his cigarette in Soap's direction. "Just hold her down. She won't be able to do anything."

Soap shook his head. "I'm not really the type to force women into doing something they're not too fond of. Having an older sister and competent mother meant I just had to deal with it."

"Look, I've known Shorty for much longer than you. Take my word. She'll respect you putting her in her place. She's just testing you."

Soap fell quiet as he spotted Shorty off in the distance preparing her things for the helicopter ride. Before he could respond, a familiar voice emitted from behind him.

"Hey, Soap."

He lowered his cigar and peered over his shoulder. His eyes met with Ricochet's aqua-eyed stared. Trevor glanced back at the sound.

"I wanted to tell you something before you two took off." Rico addressed as she gestured off towards a distant Shorty. "Especially since you're about to have a several hour trip with Shorty as your pilot."

Trevor nodded slowly at her, already expecting what was to come. Soap turned his body completely around to face her, giving her his undivided attention.

"I'm all ears." He stated.

"I've been talking to Shorty a lot these past few days. And I just want you to know that she means well." Her eyes stayed locked onto his face. "But, I truly believe she sincerely doesn't favor you at the moment, however, that doesn't mean she's stuck in her ways of acting like...quite the character. In all honesty, you're the first person I've seen her do this to."

"Glad I am the outlier." Soap replied with a deep voice.

"Yeah, well, such is life, yeah?" She looked back at Shorty who was now discussing something with Tatiana. "Sorry she's giving you the bitch treatment. But I will still stand by my words. She _does_ mean well. Just be patient. That's all."

Soap nodded at her. "Funny timing, because Trevor was literally telling me the same thing moments before."

She smiled. "Yeah, so, see? We all know the real Shorty. Just be patient, joke along-you know, maybe try to be yourself."

"We'll see."

"Either way, I appreciate you being open-minded with it."

Trevor had to chuckle. "He doesn't have any other choice if he doesn't want to be miserable anymore." He took a moment to breathe on his cigarette. "Remember what I said, big-man, just push back."

Rico crossed her arms and smirked. "Shorty will absolutely love that." She stated sarcastically.

"Alright, so now you both are giving me different sets of advice...you're saying I need to be patient with her," Soap pointed to Rico, and then looked to Trevor, "and you're telling me to be assertive with her."

"And both sets of advice will work just fine. Apply them both. Just have fun with it." Rico stated.

His eyes moved away from Trevor and towards Rico. She noticed his eyes drift momentarily before finding her face again. He was met with a wide, lovely smile and slightly pink-tinted cheeks.

"Well, then. Good luck, you too." She gestured her head then turned to leave.

Soap watched her leave the runway and disappeared off towards the barracks. His pondering was interrupted by Trevor's sudden burst of laughter. Soap was quick to look over at him after flicking his cigar butt off onto the pavement.

Trevor was shaking his head in amusement. "Man. I tell you what, you're painful to watch sometimes."

Soap had to lower his brow in confusion. "Excuse me?"

His entertained eyes found the Scotsman bewildered stare. "Those wandering eyes. You're bad about _not_ being obvious with it."

Soap blinked at him. "...What do you mean?"

Trevor, after putting his cigarette out on the ground, gestured off towards where Rico had just ambled off to. "You know you're being bad about trying to check a woman out when she is clearly aware of you doing it."

Suddenly, everything became incredibly apparent to Soap. "Oh...really?"

"Yeah, really." He crossed his arms, leaving the smirk on his face. "Hey, you know, I get it. But damn...want some tips?"

Soap couldn't resist feeling rather amused by Trevor's words. "I think I'm good."

"But now at least you're aware of how bad you are."

Soap shrugged. "Guess so."

Trevor waved him off. "Ah, actually, I'm not done here, because I _really_ think you need some help."

"Here we go…" Soap murmured.

Trevor grinned and then let his arms fall to his side, where one of his hands found his pocket. "Rico is a bit different than Shorty. Shorty is obviously possessing a great ass, and it's prominent. Rico is a bit better at...concealing herself, so to speak. Not that Shorty is dressing inappropriately, but there's only so much room in a pair of pants before they can no longer contain that fine-"

Soap raised a hand in the air. "Alright, I get it-"

Trevor laughed. "Right. So, with Rico, you don't initially realize that she's actually pretty good looking. She wears that ballcap most of the time, and she's not one to wear tight-ass clothes. It forces you to be more observant with her. However," Trevor raised an attentive finger into the air, "that will also mean she will notice when you check her out, because she's not trying to get attention to begin with. She's confident and isn't searching for that reassurance."

"You're just so wise-"

"Not done here."

Soap sighed as he rubbed the ashes of his cigar into the pavement with his boot.

Trevor shrugged. "I'm more of an ass guy, but doesn't mean I haven't noticed it when Rico does the rare act of wearing a top that's a bit more form-fitting."

Soap uncrossed his arms and raised a hand out before his face. "Alright, I get it. I'll take note." He shook his head. "Damn, you're starting to sound like Reggie."

Trevor lowered his chin and sent an intentive stare in Soap's direction. "Where do you think he learned it?"

Soap fell quiet before staring back at Trevor. "Great. So you're implying that there may be two Reggie's on base."

Before Trevor could respond, Shorty's voice emitted from near the hangar. "We're departing in 10 minutes, you two!"

Trevor raised an arm and waved. "Thanks, beautiful!"

She gave him the bird before turning her attention towards the Iroquois. Trevor took a moment to enjoy a snicker.

"She's just so...charming." Soap commented with a sarcastic tone. "I can see why you're just so fond of her elegance and grace."

Off in the distance, Shorty stretched, scratched her lower back, and began to make wild gestures as Ivan almost dropped a crate on her. Soap shook his head as Trevor continued to snicker.

Suddenly, Price approached the two men.

Soap gestured his head in greetings. "Old man."

Price returned the gesture. "Muppet."

Soap smiled before scratching his nose. He noticed a duffle bag at the old man's side. "Joining us?"

Price's sharp eyes followed Soap's stare before returning his attention back to the Scotsman's face. "Yes. We're picking up two Echo members on our way there. I'll be with them in a surveillance vehicle keeping in touch."

"You always were a watchful one." Soap commented.

Price nodded at the statement. "Right. And when we return, we'll be greeted by more action."

"Oh, yeah?" Trevor questioned.

"Echo gave us a lead on an informant. Samson is going to work that out with Lemann while we're gone." Price crossed his arms after throwing the bag's strap over his shoulder. "We're back dealing with the Vasquez family."

"Where will that be taking us?" Soap questioned.

Price met up with Soap's intelligent stare. "Mexico."

"Ugh, Mexico." Trevor mumbled.

Soap nodded in understanding as the sound of the Iroquois propellers starting up grabbed his attention. All three men looked up some ways to see Ivan waving for them.

"Let's get our arses moving." Price ordered as his long strides moved him for the chopper.

Trevor let out his arm, gesturing for Soap to take the lead. The Scotsman smirked faintly as he followed the old man's footsteps.

Inside the interior of the helicopter, and once all passengers became secure in their seats, Soap's eyes caught glimpse of something he hadn't noticed before. Dangling by a thread in the cockpit, between Ivan and Shorty, was a set of purple, fuzzy dice. He watched it momentarily shake from the vibration that was coursing through the Iroquois as it gained power. Keeping a blank expression on his face, he smiled mentally. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

* * *

"Well, you two are looking sharp." Price crossed his arm and observed the two men before him. Trevor tugged at his suit coat while Soap attached his radio to his ear and coat pocket. They both looked at each other with slightly disinterested stares. Both were dressed in identical black suits, with white dress shirts, and charcoal, grey ties.

"Got your gear in order?" Price questioned with his usually voice, which hit the ears like daggers.

"Aye." Soap checked the security of his SIG P226 handgun which was being hidden by the interior of his coat.

"Good." Price motioned for them. "Walk with me. We're supposed to be getting picked up by Talon in 10 minutes."

The two men followed close to Price's assertive stride.

"You're both meeting up with Amelie Jacquet in the Borgerhout district, where you will escort her and her entourage to a nearby restaurant. Her entourage is just other members of her democratic party, in addition to some family members. I heard it was an all female outing. Should be fun."

"When's the speech?" Trevor inquired.

Price scratched his nose. "1500. By the Nation Bank near Stadspark."

Trevor nodded in understanding while Soap scanned his surroundings and wide hallway they ambled down. They eventually broke into a wide space as they entered the hotel lobby.

"Talon will be outside waiting for us. Black Buick." Price found the rotating door and brought himself through with Soap and Trevor still following his lead. Once outside, Price double-checked his wristwatch before sighing and looking off down the busy streets. A few pedestrians laced in between them and couldn't resist the urge to look them up and down.

"Hm." Price murmured as his eyes flashed in the direction of Soap and Trevor. "Any more questions. I know you're bound to have a few more, Soap."

Soap smirked faintly. "Right, old man. So I'm assuming they know English, and that they're well-informed?"

Price nodded. "Obviously. Still wouldn't hurt if you had some French at your disposal though."

"Samson already told us to have a French greetings ready for them." Trevor raised his hands up to do air-quotes. "To 'show our respect'."

"You make it sound like they're not worthy of it." Soap's keen eyes landed onto Trevor's profile.

"Well, we are the ones being paid, and they're the ones asking for the help."

"Relax, muppet. They'll make sure you both feel...welcomed." Price stated.

Trevor and Soap both raised an eyebrow at Price. The way his words came out sounded almost facetious.

Suddenly, a solid black, chrome accented Regal pulled up to the curve. The tinted windows kept the driver's face obscured. On cue, Price ambled up to the side and tapped a solid fist against the door, signalling the driver to roll down the window.

"Ready?" The driver asked.

"We were ten minutes ago."

"Alright, get in." The driver jutted a thumb towards the rear seats.

Price glanced back at the two suited men and gestured his head for them to get a move-on. Both brought themselves to the rear-seat door and filed inside while Price hopped into the front passenger seat.

Once inside, Price turned in his seat to face them. "Remember, we'll keep in touch the entire time. Report any suspicious behavior in any near proximities when you're with Jacquet. We can alert the police force in the area." He narrowed his eyes. "And stay sharp. Don't allow anything to distract you. You wouldn't want to be an embarrassment to the Rangers or S.A.S., now would you?"

Both returned a professional and determined stare.

"Good." Price returned to facing the streets before him as they drove along. He adjusted his earpiece and tiny bluetooth radio that remained hooked to his clothing. Trevor and Soap resumed to staring out the windows and analyzing the streets and buildings of Antwerp.

After a seemingly short city drive, the men arrived at the designated district and pulled themselves out of the vehicle to find themselves standing on the wide sidewalk before what appeared to be a townhall structure. Again, Price led them along the way.

"They'll all be inside. You're not here to be their friends or become informal acquainted. Keep it short and professional. Nothing more, nothing less. Remember, you're hired guns."

"Our SIGs are worth more than what each of us are getting paid…" Trevor mumbled.

"You two have it so hard, don't you?"

"Absolutely unbearable." Soap commented flatly with a sarcastic tone.

By that point, Price was already bringing them both inside where they each now walked through the building's high-ceilinged foyer. Immediately, their eyes all fell upon six women who were chatting casually while a chauffeur stood near them with a blank expression. Instantly, all of their eyes landed onto the three men that were now striding in their direction. Some of them couldn't resist satisfied looking smiles. The looks instantly caused Trevor and Soap to peer over at each other with perplexed expressions.

Once before them, Price nodded his head towards them. "Bonjour, mesdames. Amelie Jacquet." Price paused to let an arm out which caused the women to all look at Soap and Trevor who bore a professional, clean-cut look. "These two will be your personal guards. John MacTavish and Trevor Dresden."

A middle-aged woman, with warm-tinted brown hair, stepped forth from her group of acquaintances and let out a hand for them to accept. "Well, met gentlemen." She had a kind voice.

Trevor took her hand and shook it firmly. "Bonjour, madame."

"And you're monsieur Dresden?"

"Oui, madame."

Jacquet was quick to look over at Soap and let out a hand for him to take. He shook it with confident movements. "And you must be monsieur MacTavish?"

Soap nodded. "Oui, madame."

The way her eyebrows rose made it seem as if she was rather intrigued by the way Soap's voice sounded deeply from the back of his throat. She suddenly smiled. "Alright, I appreciate the pleasantries and well-mannered behavior, but you two can cut it. I would like to think we can interact in a more informal environment."

Her words caused both Trevor and Soap to quickly glance at the old man who stood sternly with his default, rough expression.

"It's what suits you best, ma'am." Soap replied.

She smiled up at him before turning to her group behind her. "Bon, passons. J'ai faim." She then gestured for the chauffeur to begin to lead them all for the limousine outside. Before following, she pulled her attention to Price. "Thank you, monsieur Price. We will meet again shortly.

The old war hero nodded in her direction as she passed him up. Soap and Trevor were quick to join her side. "Good luck, muppets." He spoke to them as they passed.

Soap waved the old man off as they followed Jacquet for the exit. The women behind them exchanged a few words in French, whom Soap caught very little of.

Once outside and before the limo, she faced the two men as the chauffeur opened the door for her. "You two know French?"

They both shook their heads as Soap opened his mouth. "I know very little. My mum loved French culture so I had learned a few basics from her growing up."

"Alright, wonderful. So I suppose we can stick to English." She replied. "Now come."

Jacquet pulled herself inside while Trevor and Soap allowed the five other women to join their friend inside the back compartment. The two men were swift to join them inside the back as the door shut behind them. Immediately, they were both met with amused stares. They felt somewhat uncomfortable at first before one of the women began to speak to the group around her in French.

Trevor leaned in closer to Soap and lowered his voice. "You did see that, right?"

"The intense stare session? Aye. I saw that." Soap replied quietly.

Trevor pulled away and nodded with mild entertainment with his lower lip sticking out slightly.

Again, Jacquet grabbed their attention. "Will you two be hungry?"

They both looked up at her. "No thanks. We already have eaten." Trevor answered and was met with a wide, blissful grin.

"Suit yourself."

The women instantly began to become immersed into conversation. On occasion, the conversation would range from English dialect before eventually switching back to French. Somehow, both men could sense that this particular mission would go unpleasantly for them.

After a short drive, the vehicle came to a complete stop and every passenger streamed out of the back seat and began to amble for the quaint cafe before them. Soap and Trevor returned to Jacquet's side as the chauffeur remained behind during this round of events.

Once inside, the women were quickly sat at a round table near the back, with most of the crowd kept away. Trevor and Soap stood assertively and professionally before the table with their eyes locked onto the dining area before them. The women ordered, and again, the basic conversation returned.

"So, Amelie. Aren't you nervous for the speech? After all of the death threats?" A red haired woman had asked as she leaned into the table to look over at Jacquet.

On command, Jacquet brushed the comment away nonchalantly. "Non, pas du tout. All of the people like that are cowards. It's all an act."

"Then why spend thousands to hire personal body guards?"

"Oh, deary, I didn't request that. It was the democratic party. I'm not necessarily thrilled that my campaign budget is being used to pay for these fine gentlemen here, and of course, the rest of the police force patrolling the streets." She sighed. "Il est devenu un cauchemar. (It's become a nightmare.)"

Suddenly, one of the women let her eyes narrow with interest as she looked the two men's backsides up and down. "Très bien fait. (Very fine indeed)."

The women began to snicker and giggle with mild intrigue as all of their eyes landed onto Soap and Trevor. Both of them could sense the stares hovering over their bodies. Trevor had to sigh as Soap tensed up slightly.

"Alors, qui voulez vas te faire encule? (Which one would you fuck?)" One woman said. The women immediately smiled and continued to giggle.

Soap let his brow go flat as he came to terms with what he thought the woman had just said.

A woman with black hair pointed in Trevor's direction. "Que l'on a un cul fantastique. (That one has a fantastic butt.)"

"Le grand on a les épaules sexy, si. (The tall one has very sexy shoulders though)" One pointed a fork at Soap. "J'aimerais serrer ses muscles. (I'd love to squeeze those muscles.)"

Unable to resist, as he continued to grow more and more uncomfortable, Soap glanced back at the women only to be met by wide smiles and friendly waves. Pulling his attention back to the front of the room, he ran his tongue on his teeth.

Trevor's eyes widened as he whispered. "What are they saying…?"

Soap could only shake his head, causing Trevor to raise his eyebrows and turn back to look at the women. He too received the same gestures.

"What the fuck, man. Are...are they talking about us?" Trevor asked lowly.

"I believe so."

"About what?"

Soap laced his fingers together before his pants as he sighed. "By the sounds of it, sexually oriented material."

Trevor immediately pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're definitely not getting paid enough...not enough to be hit on by cougars for the next four hours."

Soap had to emit a quick chuckle at Trevor's comment. But then his ears began to catch other bits of the conversation.

"Je doute qu'ils ne l'ont jamais connu le sexe qui serait aussi expert que la nôtre. (I doubt they ever experienced sex that'd be as expert as ours.)" Another woman spoke, causing another set of giggles to emit from around the table.

"Nous aimerions faire leurs tourner la tête! (We would make their heads spin!)"

Trevor nodded slowly with pursed lips as Soap stared off into the distance. They both figured it could always be worse than getting sexual remarks tossed in their direction by seemingly attractive, older women.

Eventually, after several more tradebacks about which man was more attractive and how, the food arrived and the topic of the conversation trailed off and headed in a different direction, particularly pertaining to politics. The women ate with content while the time of the speech drew near.

After the meals were finished, and the bills were paid, the group sat up, with Trevor and Soap watching their sides. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. At least, nothing too suspicious to report.

Soap heard Price's voice in his ear. "Give me an update."

"Heading westbound. ETA 15 minutes." Soap responded.

"Copy that. Keep your eyes peeled. You both have permission to be on the stage with her. Maintain a three meter distance." Price answered back with his hoarse voice.

"Copy that." Soap replied as he peered back out the window with observant eyes.

It was obvious they drew near as the number of police in the crowd became more prominent and abundant. A few remained lined up near the back of a growing bustle of onlookers. The limo pulled up to a private sector, and began to search for the location to drop off the passengers.

Coming to a section located behind the stage, the car came to a complete stopped and they all were given clearance to exit the back. Soap and Trevor both left the back seat first as they waited patiently for the rest of the women to exit; they immediately joined Jacquet's side as she began to stride for the stage with her chin held up. She was strangely confident and calm for a woman who had been receiving death threats for the past several months. The two Darkhorse members kept an eye on their surroundings, and did the best they could to scope out suspicion like a bunch of hawks.

After getting situated on stage, and the introductory speech was delivered, an applause was heard as Amelie Jacquet made her way onto the stage. Soap's eyes ran over the faces in the crowd as Trevor scanned the area near the back of the sea of people. Wide, attentive eyes watched closely as the speech began and important topics began to get discussed.

Suddenly, once some time had past, Trevor and Soap's watchful eyes caught glimpse of outlandish movement within the crowd. A few people were shoved to the side as a man hurriedly made his way for the front. Trevor leaned his weight forward as Soap bent his knees. And just as fast as they caught the movement, gunfire blasts were heard from the source. Bullets pinged off the pedestal as Jacquet lowered down and shielded her face. The people in the audience ducked and scattered as the man continued to send off shots. A few bystanders on the stage were unfortunate enough to be in the pathway of the stray, sporadic bullets.

Trevor was quick to react as he immediately sprinted for Amelie to tackle her out of the way. Those two went fumbling towards the ground as screams were heard and voices echoed. Soap was already leaping off the stage and running through the crowd to seize the man. He had him in his sights but couldn't take off any shots due to the chaos and amount of innocent lives in the area. As he neared, his bellowing mass was noticed by the assailant. The man panicked and raised the M9, but only in time to have a tremendous force clutch his wrist and twist it roughly to the side. His grip weakened around the gun as Soap was quick to obtain it. Soap met the man's panicking eyes and sent a death glare in his direction.

Being quick on his feet, he kicked the man's knee-cap out, causing him to shout out and stumble towards the ground. Soap finished him off with a quick two-point takedown, resulting in the man going flat against the pavement. Jumping for him, Soap landed a strong knee into the attacker's sternum and slammed a forearm against his throat while keeping the man's arm pinned down with the other knee. The man gargled and struggled for air as Soap continued to push weight against him.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Price's voice echoed loudly in his ear.

"We had a shooter. I have him pinned." Soap replied, deep voice reverberating.

Trevor stood Amelie up once he noticed the area was clear. He guided her off the stage as police began to escort her away, whereas others ran for Soap and the attempted assassin. Realizing the police force were now standing around him, Soap snagged the man and raised him from the ground, allowing for the police to restrain him and take him away.

Soap watched them pull the man along and towards the cruisers before turning back towards the stage where he met Trevor's stare.

Trevor gave him a quick head nod as he jumped down from the stage to join up with Soap. From there, they quickly regrouped with Price. They found him in a large white van with two Talon members.

"Well, done. Could have gone better. But also could have gone worse." Price commented as the men entered.

"Hey, she isn't dead." Trevor stated matter-of-factly.

Price cleared his throat. "Still had some casualties. Two others were injured from bullet wounds. But, again, mission successful. Let's arrange for us to head back to Croatia. Echo got news of a potential informant which will be taking us in a completely different direction." Price looked over the roughened faces before him. "So get ready for that."

After things settled down, Soap and Trevor were paid off and thanked personally by Amelie Jacquet before they began their journey home. It was a rather serene trip back. The scenery and landscape below the Iroquois passed them up in a series of swooping colors as they hovered along. They made several pit stops, and after 32 hours, they all returned safely to the Darkhorse base in Croatia, where they were greeted by warm weather, a shimmering sun, and the face's of friends.

Before exiting the chopper, Soap quickly snatched Shorty's purple dice from the front cabin and smiled as he left the inner compartment. He twirled the fuzzy dice in his hand as he ambled for the sleep corridors.

* * *

Ah ha! Take that Shorty! Just you wait; Soap has something creative in store for you!


End file.
